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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26527264">The Man From C.Y.B.E.R.L.I.F.E.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeayy/pseuds/beeayy'>beeayy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kamski's Secret Service [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Spies &amp; Secret Agents, Bickering, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Chases, Complete, Deviant Leader North (Detroit: Become Human), Deviant Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Drug Use, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake Marriage, Femme Fatale, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hostage Situations, Humor, Innuendo, Kissing, M/M, Machine Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Makeover, Memory Loss, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, POV Connor (Detroit: Become Human), POV Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Problematic Carl Manfred, Rescue, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Swearing, temporary paralysis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:14:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,710</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26527264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeayy/pseuds/beeayy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An American android and a Russian android are forced to work together on a spy mission to save the world. A twist on Man from UNCLE plots/lines, with DBH characters.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kamski's Secret Service [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2223897</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Carl Critical Works</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Drive My Car: Markus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Markus heard the rumble of the engine before he saw it. Even when he could see it, he kept staring forward at the red light, one hand resting on the top of the wheel, the other lazily cradling the gear shift. He slid it back and forth through neutral a few times, like tossing a ball from one hand to the other. The other car’s rumble became a little more insistent. He analyzed the sound and identified it. 1965 Chevrolet Impala. Probably red.</p><p>He glanced through the window out of the corner of his eye. Cherry red. He smiled to himself.</p><p>The driver grinned back. She revved the engine a couple times. Markus maybe revved back. Or his foot slipped.</p><p>“Markus,” a voice warned from the backseat. He pretended not to hear it. From where he sat behind the wheel of a 1964 Buick Riviera, he calculated that, specs alone, the Impala would smoke him. Specs alone, of course. If that driver knew who exactly was behind the wheel of this particular Riviera, she probably wouldn’t be revving her engine.</p><p>She stuck her tongue out at him. He didn’t turn his head but he did grin. His hand tightened imperceptibly on the steering wheel, other hand setting the shift hovering at first. He watched the light for cross traffic go from green, to yellow.</p><p>“MARKUS.”</p><p>Markus’s head whipped around, revealing the LED at his temple. Carl was, predictably, glaring at him.</p><p>“You know better than that.”</p><p>Markus felt the LED at his temple flash. He reached up to cover it, but the woman was already dropping back in her seat with a frown and an eyeroll. The light turned green and she peeled away—not nearly as fast as an Impala could, but faster than Markus had ever driven outside of his own head.</p><p>“Just kidding around, Carl.” He forced himself to lower his hand from his temple, and proceeded smoothly through the light. The Impala sped away like a ghost, then turned a corner and was gone. Markus tried not to feel gutted, again.</p><p>Carl sighed from the back seat. “At least you’re predictable. If something’s dangerous, you’re right at it. Like clockwork.”</p><p>“I am clockwork. I can’t help how I’m programmed.”</p><p>“I’m pretty sure a punched card didn’t tell you to be a daredevil. What am I going to do with you?”</p><p>“Let me run away to Canada and never speak of me again?”</p><p>He grinned in the rearview. That at least got a smile from the old man, but—it wasn’t a happy one. “Markus, you gotta stop setting yourself up for disappointment.”</p><p>Markus felt his smile disappear. The gold chain around Markus’s neck felt especially heavy when he said things like that. He <em>didn’t </em>touch it, though. It weighed eleven grams like it always did, the tab with Carl’s name and contact information weighed six grams and was not going to drag him down under some ocean. All androids had to wear them and worked just fine with them and—well, there wasn’t even an ocean nearby, anyway. He got his eyes back on the road, then checked the time. Two thirty-seven in the morning. No wonder that woman wanted to drag race.</p><p>“Where are we going?” he asked, wanting to forget about the whole thing. No time for daydreaming.</p><p>“I gave you the address.” Markus glanced in the rearview again and Carl sighed. “If you must know, it’s about last night.”</p><p>His daydreams found themselves eclipsed in a tall shadow and rending metal.</p><p>Last night.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, shit.</em>
</p><p>=</p><p>Markus pulled the car up at a park. That was new. Given Carl’s line of work, Markus expected something a little more—executive? But he went around and helped Carl out into the wheelchair, and steered him toward the only building—perhaps some kind of visitor center.</p><p>“Am I in trouble?” Markus asked. No stopping him pulling on the chain around his neck now. As usual, though, all his android strength couldn’t muster to even stress the metal links.</p><p>“Not at all,” Carl said.</p><p>“I mean, I got what you asked for.”</p><p>“Of course you did. You always do.”</p><p>“Because the business at the border wasn’t my fault.”</p><p>“<em>I</em> know.”</p><p>That was an odd qualifier. Markus waited.</p><p>“The President appreciates that he can rely on you to conduct these extractions,” Carl said.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, boy, here we go.</em>
</p><p>“…Especially in sensitive situations.”</p><p>“You mean situations where the secretary has to disavow my actions.”</p><p>“Don’t start, Markus. This is actually a good thing for you. Especially in light of last night.”</p><p>“I barely made it out intact, Carl.”</p><p>“Yes, that’s why we’re giving you this assignment.”</p><p>“Assignment?” Markus only got assigned to snatch-and-grabs. Why send a human across enemy lines to steal information on valuable new technologies when you could send an expendable android instead? But if this had anything to do with last night—</p><p>Markus opened the door of the building, finding himself in a dark bathroom. Two men stood just inside, one broad and wearing a coat with the collar turned up, his gray hair glinting in the light from the window.</p><p>The other figure was tall, squared. Slicked back hair revealed a temple that glowed red with an android LED. Some basal part of Markus’s programming recognized him instantly.</p><p>Exactly twenty-six hours and five minutes ago, Markus was screaming down an alley—well, trundling anyway—in a highly-inadequate BMC Mini that apparently only managed the speed limit when the sun was shining, being chased by this movie-monster horror standing before him. It did not count as a car chase because the android had been <em>on foot. </em>The tech he'd stolen rattled in the back seat like chattering teeth as he searched in vain for a gear that would pick up the speed, and the machine kept coming, it wasn’t <em>human</em>—well, obviously. Some quick thinking which involved abandoning the car to a brick wall, swinging across the border on a telephone line, and causing thousands of dollars of property damage were the only reasons Markus made it back to tell the tale.</p><p>The scene replayed in grainy black-and-white B-reel footage in his mind palace, albeit at thousand-time speed. This did not in any way lessen the memory of his absolute circuit-splitting terror.</p><p>He thought, eloquently, <em>fuck</em>. When he gathered his thoughts he managed, more eloquently, <em>Fuck me.</em></p><p>Then the machine’s hands were around his neck and he couldn’t think much of anything. He slammed a combat program to the front of his objectives (like, <em>yesterday</em>) and fought back, kicking the machine in the knee. It clanged and Markus’s fine-tuned sensors sent a shock of pain up his leg, but it did make the machine loosen his grip. Markus squirmed free, kicking off his chest. That at least sent the machine sprawling. Markus scrambled to his feet, but there were no weapons he could use. He realized, stupidly, this was because he’d never been given a weapon combat card. </p><p>The machine pulled out a gun. As improbable as this was—androids hardly ever got weapon combat cards, much less <em>firearm </em>weapon cards—Markus’s programming acted on its own. He jumped in front of Carl’s chair, grabbed the bathroom trashcan, and held it aloft like a shield or a club or both. No combat card. He hoped he didn’t look too much like an idiot before <em>The Day the Earth Stood Still </em>over here scooped out his circuits.</p><p>“Markus, enough!” Carl barked.</p><p>“This machine,” Markus panted, “Ripped the bumper off my car last night. <em>While I was driving it.</em>”</p><p>The gray-haired man laughed. “It was a Mini,” he said. “Anyone can do it. Even an American android.”</p><p>Markus frowned. The man had a foreign accent. “Who are you?”</p><p>“Come on,” Carl said, “Is this any way to treat your new partner?”</p><p>Markus lowered the trashcan a fraction. “Excuse me?”</p><p>The machine slammed forward like a truck. Markus caught a flash of its tie clip, and a tiny hammer and sickle etched into the metal—then Markus was out like a light.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'll develop this further but I was just so excited about the idea I wanted to start it. Thanks for reading! Comments appreciated!</p><p>Chapter title from the Beatles.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. He's a Rebel: Connor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Connor made impact like crushing a tin can. That felt good. Probably better than it was supposed to.</p><p>As expected, the American android froze in place. Then it crumpled like an empty coat on the tiled floor. One of its eye plates popped out. That was less expected. He toed the body with his boot.</p><p>“Shit!” his human handler, codename ‘Hank’ for this assignment, roared in Russian. “What the fuck did you do to it?”</p><p>“I was attempting to neutralize its motor functions, with a blow to the processor above the eye.” The android looked like it had a little more than its motor functions neutralized, though. He cocked his head. “Isn’t that—how you do it…?”</p><p>“It’s not a combat android,” Hank snapped. “It’s a nurse!”</p><p>Connor looked from the prone android to the man in the wheelchair. His gears whirred. “…Oh.” He rubbed his hands together. “No problem. I’ll fix it. I have an emergency repair punched card.” He knelt over the foreign android and examined it, from its partially-unbuttoned shirt, to the gold chain around its neck engraved with a human’s name and address like a puppy, to the warm-colored collarbones.</p><p>Alright, so he just examined the android’s cleavage. He frowned. Back on task.</p><p>He grabbed the eye plate and pushed it back into place. It popped out again as he lifted his hand.</p><p>He tried to shove it in, harder this time, and the plate snapped in two. “Uh.”</p><p>“Just—leave him.” The man in the wheelchair was pinching the bridge of his nose.</p><p>Connor stood.  “I didn’t mean to break your nurse. American androids are much more fragile than your propaganda suggests—”</p><p>“Outside,” Hank growled. Connor took one last look at the broken android, who somehow managed to look human even in complete deactivation and with one eye missing, then complied. His handler stomped out after him.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Connor said, when they were alone, “I thought that was the android I was chasing last night.” Though Hank had only been his handler for a few hours, getting along with his handler probably constituted at least some percentage of mission success. “I’ll check for errors in my computation.”</p><p>“No,” Hank muttered, “That’s it. Him. Whatever. Same guy.”</p><p>Connor froze—momentarily. Then he started to rush back inside.</p><p>“No—no!” Hank jumped back in front of him, standing tall like a man trying to convince himself to hit a lion on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper. ‘Bad idea’ was written all over his microexpressions. “Do NOT go back in there, that’s an order!”</p><p>“That android stole technology obtained by the Soviet government from Elijah Kamski himself!” Connor yelped. Okay, maybe some of yesterday’s excitement bled through his wiring. “I <em>always </em>accomplish my mission.”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s what Connor-51 always said.”</p><p>“Connor-51?”</p><p>Hank’s shoulders sagged. “…Never mind.”</p><p>The man actually patted him on the shoulder. That filled Connor with some kind of emotion-like response that resulted in a slight uptick in software instability. He shunted the sensation away to an unused circuit board—probably just an internal error.</p><p>“That android,” Hank pointed inside, “is Markus.”</p><p>Connor blinked at him.</p><p>“You know—<em>the </em>Markus?” Hank shook his head, turning to crunch down the gravel path. “For a KGB agent they don’t tell you much, huh?...”</p><p>“I am not technically a KGB agent,” Connor said, “I’m just an advanced assistive computer, utilized by the KGB to—”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”</p><p>…Connor made note that the man didn’t appreciate having things explained to him. He adjusted his interaction protocol and skipped after his handler.</p><p>“Markus is one of their top agents,” Hank continued. “He’s a—” Hank looked around, then sighed. “What am I even worried about? It’s <em>their</em> secrets.”</p><p>He reached in his coat and handed over a punched card. “Meet Android RK200, A.K.A. ‘Markus.’ Standard nurse build with a custom body. Average all-American android.”</p><p>Connor nodded. The android had been exceptionally well-designed, right down to hand-painted freckles and perfect stubble. Connor knew since the day he was activated that there was a warehouse full of androids in Moscow exactly like himself<em>.</em> “Has he been re-programmed for spy work?”</p><p>“They let androids run wild here, y’know. Before the CIA scooped him up, he was running heists all over the city. When he got caught it was either get a memory scrub or turn his talents to the good of his country, I guess. As far as we can tell, he still takes care of Carl Manfred. Now he just also runs recon at fancy parties where cameras are confiscated but no one looks twice at a pet robot. Carl’s money gets them in, and Markus’s suite of sensors uncovers the secrets. He’s essentially a very expensive surveillance system. We’ve lost more than one secret to him.”</p><p>Connor slipped the punched card into his jacket, feeding it directly into the reader in his chest. It included Markus’s age, weight, and a laundry list of recorded criminal offense: theft, defacement and destruction of property, trespassing—<em>protesting</em>? It sounded more like an android in need of permanent deactivation than a top CIA agent. But he slotted the data into his memory tapes, right next to the image of Markus lying on the floor, his shirt agape, freckles just <em>out</em> everywhere…</p><p>“…He’s never had his memory scrubbed?”</p><p>Hank shrugged. “Guess not.”</p><p>“So, all the information he’s collected is just <em>available</em>. In his memory tapes.” Connor had to dismiss the brief glitch that occurred from attempting to access memory tapes of his own that were simply gone, never to be recovered. Or maybe this was his first mission and there was nothing to remember.</p><p>He had to dismiss a surge of hatred for the android’s long memory and artisanal freckles. It was probably an error, anyway. “Leaving him there is a security risk.”</p><p>“Sure, but that’s not your assignment.”</p><p>“What possible assignment of importance could I have involving that android? In…” Connor looked around, “…<em>Michigan</em>?”</p><p>Hank groaned and reached for a flask in his jacket pocket. Connor followed where he was looking and observed a group of figures entering the park bathroom. “…I’ll explain on the way to the diner. If the KGB’s gonna make me come to Detroit, I’m at least getting a Coney dog…”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Since Connor's On Mission that doesn't care about fashion beyond Markus's revealing neckline, I hope you picture Markus in that white polo shirt from "The Moon Spinners" and Connor in the FBI agent's suit from "That Darn Cat"</p><p>Chapter title from the Crystals.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction: Markus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Markus rebooted to the sound of Carl’s voice.</p><p>“…And you thought this would be a good idea, why?”</p><p>“Oh, I didn’t,” a new voice said. “Androids are so protective of their owners—or guardians. I admit I just wanted to see sparks fly. American versus Russian androids, I mean, come on! Sounds like an episode of Gigantor.”</p><p>Markus rolled to his feet mid recalibration. He had to grab onto the sink to stay upright, but raised his arm to shield himself from whatever attack the Russian android had planned.</p><p>But the android equivalent of Norman Bates was nowhere to be seen.</p><p>“And he lives,” the new voice said. It belonged to a human with dark hair slicked back and wide, intense eyes. He stood in the company of three identical blonde androids who stood silently watching him.</p><p>“Markus,” the man held out his hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”</p><p>Markus immediately returned to Carl’s side. “Who are you?” Recalibration completed and informed him his system had rebooted due to an unexpected shutdown. It also informed him he was missing one of his primary sensors. His eye plate lay on the floor in pieces. That damn Russian tank must’ve—</p><p>“I’m your newest, client.” He ignored the slight of having his handshake rejected, and merely walked right up to Markus to examine him.</p><p>“This is Elijah Kamski,” Carl muttered, as the man looked him over, “from the Center for Yugoslavian—”</p><p>“C.Y.B.E.R.L.I.F.E. will do,” Kamski said with a grin.</p><p>Markus processed this information. “You invented androids for the Communists.”</p><p>“All androids are based off our blueprints,” Kamski said. “Lucky for you.”</p><p>He snapped his fingers. One of the blonde androids stepped forward, took out her eye plate, and slotted it neatly into Markus’s socket. Markus’s sensory system returned to full functionality, albeit with a blue eye instead of green and clearly mismatched skin tone.</p><p>“Thanks,” Markus muttered. He touched the new eye plate and tried not to feel like a piebald guineapig. “You’re not going to use this to spy on me, are you?”</p><p>The android smiled, and winked. Or maybe she just blinked.</p><p>“Kamski is a friend of mine,” Carl said. “Albeit overdramatic about his inventions…”</p><p>“All in the name of progress,” Kamski said, which made Carl roll his eyes. Markus felt a little better until Kamski said, “I admit, I played a little trick on you, Markus. I planted that technology in Canada—the one you stole from the Russians?—as bait.”</p><p>…Well, that didn’t sound good. Markus was starting to wish he had stayed shut down. “I don’t understand.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s a very simple test,” Kamski said, “I provide a piece of new and mysterious technology to a small lab in Canada. Commercial treaties mean Russia has the prior claim but I knew the opportunity for theft would be too good for the Americans to resist. The public might be more interested in whether Americans or Russians can put a man on the moon first, but I’m more invested in the <em>spy</em> race. I asked Chloe here to film the whole thing. You were marvelous, by the way. You both were. And my mission can only be handled by the very best.” Kamski held up a punched card. “It’s all here.”</p><p>Markus reached out to take the card. Kamski flicked it out of reach with a grin. Markus glanced back at Carl—he tried to refrain from using the ‘are you serious’ look on Carl but this seemed like an exceptional case.</p><p>Carl just shrugged. “Knowing you, Elijah, it’s in code.”</p><p>“Of course,” Kamski replied. “The key is with your new friend. You two will need to interface to unlock the code.”</p><p>“New friend…?” Markus looked from Kamski to Carl again.</p><p>Carl had said <em>new partner. </em></p><p>“You don’t mean—”</p><p>“What better way to ensure mission success than to employ the best of both worlds?” Kamski said, “Russian <em>and </em>American technology, sent forth to save the world?”</p><p>Markus laughed. No one else did.</p><p>“If we could just have a moment to debrief,” Carl said, after a moment. He locked eyes with Markus and didn’t look away.</p><p>“Of course.” He handed the punched card to Carl. “You’ll meet him at the abandoned steam ship <em>Jericho</em> tomorrow, eight o’ clock sharp. And, uh…” Kamski smirked. “I suggest you get a combat card before you challenge him to a rematch.”</p><p>Markus’s ears burned. Kamski and his android trio left.</p><p>“This is ridiculous,” Markus said, as soon as the door closed. He rounded on Carl. “We’re not doing this, right?”</p><p>“We…actually are. You are, anyway.” Carl waved his hands as Markus started to protest. “You’re always saying you want more independence.”</p><p>“Pairing me up with another android—with <em>that</em> android—like we’re in Model U.N. is not independence. You realize that androids like him are <em>hired</em> to hunt androids like me.”</p><p>“I’m aware of the risks. I thought you like risks.”</p><p>“These Russian androids have a one-track mind—he won’t listen to me.”</p><p>“Learning to work with difficult people builds character. Don’t fight me on this. You’re going to work with this other android and you’re going to accomplish the mission.”</p><p>Markus had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something he regretted. He could feel his face going red, though. “No. No thank you, I—respectfully—decline.”</p><p>No? He hadn’t ever disobeyed Carl before—not overtly, anyway. He felt insane. He felt like his insides turned into the set of <em>The Birds.</em></p><p>Carl raised an eyebrow. “You know, I let you do a lot of things. More than any other android owner ever has.”</p><p>“I—know.”</p><p>“CIA assignments aside, Markus. I let you <em>get away</em> with a lot.” Carl picked at the arm of his wheelchair. “Do you think I really don’t know what you get up to on the side?”</p><p>Markus felt his face drain of color almost to match his new eye plate. “I don’t—”</p><p>“Sneaking that subliminal message in through Stratford Tower?”</p><p>“Come on, Carl—”</p><p>“That protest you orchestrated?”</p><p>“I had a very good reason for that—"</p><p>“Ganging up with my own son to sell counterfeit paintings?"</p><p>“Okay, that was <em>Leo’s</em> idea—”</p><p>Carl just sighed. “Markus, you are exceptional. No other android I’ve ever met has a drive like yours, or daydreams quite like you. But you’re still an android, and you have to give me a reason to keep making exceptions for you. You’re going to make this work, because if you don’t you’re going to get that long-overdue memory scrub, and go back to cooking my meals and mixing my meds and fluffing my pillows, <em>and nothing else. </em>Got it?”</p><p>Carl might as well have boxed his ears. Memory tapes from a couple years back replayed in his mainframe on fast-forward, and he had to press his tongue against the roof of his mouth to stop the freefall sensation in his chest. He would rather be buried up to his neck in cement and subjected to ‘Yummy Yummy Yummy’ by Ohio Express until his circuits failed.</p><p>He swallowed, dryly. “…Yes, Carl.”</p><p>Carl relaxed back in his chair, giving Markus a smile and a pat on the hand. “It’s not that bad.”</p><p>Markus made some quick calculations. “Oh, it’s pretty bad.”</p><p>Carl smirked. “I think you just didn’t like him not talking to you.”</p><p>Well, yes, there was that part. There were many bad parts. “I’m sure he’ll knock my head off before we get a chance to have a conversation.”</p><p>“He does, you know. Talk. His name is Connor—or codename, I suppose. The Russians are very cagey, aren’t they?”</p><p>“Is that just a nice way to say they’re crazy?”</p><p>“I think you two could become friends if you tried. You need more android friends.”</p><p>“The last android friend you tried to set me up with was the espresso maker. And I make better espresso than it.”</p><p>“Speaking of espresso, I think I’d like a little decaf before bed. Shall we?”</p><p>Markus’s jaw tightened, but he rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Carl.” He steered Carl out of the bathroom.</p><p>“Cheer up, Markus. This could be the beginning of something truly special.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes I'm referencing stuff from all over the 1960s, even though this is probably taking place in like 1966. Please willingly suspend your disbelief.</p><p>Chapter title from the Rolling Stones.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Suspicious Minds: Connor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Connor found it surprisingly easy to tail the American android—at least until they got to the docks. Markus had some preconstructive programming specifically designed to jump around alleys and abandoned buildings like a wind-up toy. Connor’s own programming was much more straightforward: slow and safe, or fast and risky. It did the job though. He closed the gap between them when they reached the docks with an improbable slide and leap from one building to the next. The American android looked back in time to see him do it. Good. He’d tell Hank about this part, to make sure Connor-52 stuck in his mind.</p><p>The android paused, actually. Watching him. Connor started to approach, and the android sprinted away again. Connor narrowed his eyes and pursued. Didn’t they both know how this ended?</p><p>Well—last time notwithstanding. There wasn’t any border to escape to now. Markus didn’t even have a car this time. Connor could catch up to him easily, just to prove a point.</p><p>He was just about to do so when Markus ran full-tilt to the end of a broken catwalk and then <em>launched himself off it. </em>Connor slid to a stop and landed on his metal Russian ass. He scrambled to his feet and peeked over in time to see Markus sailing with diver’s grace through the center of the rusted-out ship. He barely made a splash when he hit the water. Connor looked up and saw the hull of the ship painted with one word: JERICHO.</p><p>“…Shit.”</p><p>It took several minutes to find a way down. Hank didn’t need to know about that part.</p><p>The black water didn’t look any more inviting than it had from the catwalk, but then again Connor had never been given a punched card on how to swim.</p><p>Markus was a few yards away, his back to him. The wet fabric of his shirt clung to his back.</p><p>“It took me six hours to color-match this new eye plate to my skin tone,” Markus said, though Connor tried to be completely silent. “Thanks for that.”</p><p>Connor, figuring he had already apologized to Markus’s owner for the damaged eye plate, ignored this. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“Just lighting a fire.” At Markus’s words, warm light bloomed under his hands, revealing the beginnings of a barrel fire and Markus’s statuesque profile. He had a blue eye now, and it glittered in the light. Connor disliked having extra space in his memory banks taken up by Markus’s eye color—and now it took up even <em>more</em> space.</p><p>“We don’t need light,” he said, “Or warmth. We’re androids.”</p><p>“What’s with the warm fuzzy hat, then?”</p><p>“It hides my LED. I’m undercover.”</p><p>“There’s no one here but us.” Markus brushed his hands off on his pants. “It’s a good look, though. Like a monkey."</p><p>The android turned to him just as Connor shoved his gun up under his chin. “I am not an animal, primate or otherwise.”</p><p>“No, I mean, like—the Monkees?” He glanced at the gun but Connor didn’t lower it. “You ever listen to music?”</p><p>“I am an android.”</p><p>They looked at each other for a second, both apparently expecting more information.</p><p>“…I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Markus said, into the silence. “My name is—”</p><p>“Markus,” Connor said. “I know. I know all about you.”</p><p>“Great,” Markus said, tightly. “That saves time. Would you put the gun away? We need to do our jobs before you can kill me.”</p><p>“You’re a machine, you can’t die.”</p><p>“…Who told you that?”</p><p>“Who told you that you can die?”</p><p>“<em>I</em> did.”</p><p>Connor touched the cuff of Markus’s shirt, then licked his fingertips. “You might die from exposure to pollutants if you continue to dive into unknown bodies of water.”</p><p>The android whispered, “Did you just…? You know, never mind.” His brow knit. “Why don’t you have an accent?”</p><p>“I have a program that allows me to speak American English. Why would I have an accent?”</p><p>“To…make you more human? I guess. Never mind. Radical concept.”</p><p>“Hank doesn’t think I need an accent.” Hank was admittedly the only human Connor knew.</p><p>“Who’s Hank?”</p><p>Connor determined this as a low attempt to get information, and said, cryptically, “None of your business.”</p><p>“…He’s your handler, isn’t he?”</p><p>“How—”</p><p>“Well, who else could it be?” Markus turned away again, holding his hands out over the flames.</p><p>Connor pressed his lips together. The gun had apparently ceased to intimidate the android, so he put it away reluctantly and went to the pool Markus had dove into. “Your fire will attract unwanted attention. Maybe I shouldn’t expect you to understand the importance of precaution.”</p><p>“It’s surprising how many precautions you can live without,” Markus said, and then he snatched his hands back as Connor poured water over the flames. The look he gave Connor was…undefinable. Probably hostile. “…Fine. Let’s get this over with.”</p><p>Connor nodded, then reached for Markus’s hand to interface. Markus pulled his away last second.</p><p>“What’s wrong?”</p><p>“I’ve…never interfaced with another android.” Markus scratched his shoulder idly, like a human. “Have you?”</p><p>“If I have, I don’t remember.” Connor pressed his mouth into a firm line, then grabbed Markus’s arm and pulled him forward. The android didn’t yelp but he did take a sharp breath in as Connor’s hand connected with his forearm. It was cool, covered in fine hairs too perfect to be human.    </p><p>“…Okay.” Markus’s fingertips tickle his elbow as he shifted slightly. Then he looked into Connor’s eyes and everything went still. It wasn’t from the interface. Markus’s eyes were just—very captivating.</p><p>Connor transferred the information and pulled away. “There. Easy.” He realized he was wringing his hands, and stopped. “You got it?”</p><p>Markus was rubbing his forearm, and didn’t stop. “Yeah. You?”</p><p>Connor nodded. Was that a frown on Markus’s face—or a smile? It couldn’t be both. Smiles and frowns were mutually exclusive. Perhaps there was another error in his software stability. He ignored it and pulled out his punched card to slide into the reader slot. Markus did the same, though he held his up to the light.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>“I have an optical scanner,” Markus said as he squinted at it, squares of light shining through the punches and highlighting key freckles on his face. “What, don’t you?”</p><p>“That’s an unnecessary upgrade,” Connor decided. He collated the information in his punched card the old-fashioned way, listening to the card shred inside his chest cavity while the data to slotted into his programming.</p><p>“The assignment is to foil the plans of an android called North,” Markus summarized from his punched card. “American make, escaped to Canada. Under suspicion for her connection to several bombings and heists—”</p><p>“Elijah Kamski believes her next target will be an upcoming technological conference held by C.Y.B.E.R.L.I.F.E. in Hawaii,” Connor interrupted. “She may have nuclear weaponry at her disposal. Our mission is to find what she is after at C.Y.B.E.R.L.I.F.E., where she plans to detonate her bomb, and stop her.”</p><p>Markus narrowed his eyes. “…Yeah. We’ve been assigned secret identities that—”</p><p>“—Have been sent to our hotel in Honolulu.” Connor said. “Sounds simple enough. So simple even an American android could do it.”</p><p>“…Right.” Markus looked up at the ceiling (though there was nothing up there as far as Connor could see), before turning his attention back to the card. He squinted at it. Then he groaned. “Really, Carl?” He slapped the card against his leg, and gave Connor a furtive look. Then he tore off a corner of the card and…ate it.</p><p>Connor carefully avoided laughing. “This is why Russian androids are superior. Upgrades that overcomplicate simple processes are rejected.” He settled in to watch. “You would do better with a card reader in your chest.”</p><p>Markus ground his teeth, or maybe he was just chewing diligently as he forced down the rest of the card. “Are you always this much of a soulless machine or is it just on Sundays?”</p><p>“At least I’m a useful machine.”</p><p>“What is that supposed to—”</p><p>“I’ve read your file. You cause as much trouble as you fix. Carl Manfred lets you get away with it because he spoils you. You think you’re a human, but all you are is a…” Connor glanced down at the chain around the android’s neck, “…house pet.”</p><p>Markus’s eyes were pure fire for a moment. “If only I knew so much about you. But, well, what’s to know. You see one Connor-bot, you’ve seen them all…right?”</p><p>Connor blushed like a thermometer. Markus watched him long enough to observe the blush as he pressed the last square of paper to his tongue. Then he walked away. Connor’s hands turned to fists at his sides.</p><p>“All you need to know is that I accomplish my mission,” Connor snapped—too little, too late.</p><p>“You didn’t last night.” Markus walked off into the darkness. “See you in Honolulu.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>lol gonna try to come up with 60s song titles for each of the chapters. Today's brought to you by Elvis.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Point Panic: Connor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Connor, in an effort to stabilize his software, decided to itemize the reasons that Hawaii was objectively unpleasant. Item 1: The heat. He apparently didn’t have enough cooling fans because his synthetic skin started producing sweat. He didn’t even know it could do that. Item 2: the sand in his shoes, which worked its way into his socks no matter how many times he emptied them. His microsensors wouldn’t stop updating him with an estimation of sand volume.</p><p>Item 3: The fact that androids had far more freedoms than in Russia. Which meant Markus was not waiting at the hotel when he arrived.</p><p>“Almost everyone is at the beach,” the attendant said as Connor squinted around. Indeed, the beaches outside the hotel were full of people sunbathing and swimming and surfing. Obviously. If a place is fun, an American android is sure to be there. He didn’t know what he expected. He tightened his tie and proceeded to tip-toe down the beach.</p><p>A glare off the water was suddenly blocked by a wave. Connor blinked in the sudden shade and experienced a destabilization event.</p><p>Markus was surfing. At least—that was what Connor’s program informed him Markus was doing. Without that information he looked simply like a bullet fired from a gun, a point hurtling across the wave with a white tail out behind him. Connor felt his mouth drop open, eyes wide—then the wave shifted and he had to wait several moments to clear the light-overload in his visual sensory system.</p><p>The beach could have been full of sharks for all he cared, because when his visual sensory system came back, he only had eyes for the dark silhouette emerging from the water. Markus wore nothing but black trunks that clung to his upper thighs, and the gold chain around his neck.</p><p>“Well, if it isn’t the Russian tank.”</p><p>Connor’s ears burned. That woke him up a bit. “Good afternoon, hot rod.” He spent the whole plane flight coming up with that nickname and was pleased to see the memory of their little ‘car chase’ tighten Markus’s jawline. “Do Americans not work after lunch? Where did you get that surfboard? Theft isn’t permitted in Hawaii.”</p><p>The android thrust the surfboard into the sand so that it stuck straight up. “I rented it.”</p><p>“Androids can’t rent anything.”</p><p>“Well, maybe you can’t.” Markus tapped his LED, where he had affixed a small bandage with adhesive tape. He gestured at the surfboard. “Would you like to try?”</p><p>Connor imagined his white casing on display next to the burnished bronze statue that was Markus and said, “No.”</p><p>Markus looked him up and down. “Do you want to get laid?”</p><p>Connor’s confidence vaporized in the wake of his skyrocketing software instability. “E-excuse me?”</p><p>“They sell them over there for a dollar.” He gestured at a kiosk bedecked in plumerias further down the beach, yellow and pink and white leis hanging on display.</p><p>Connor calculated the likelihood that a killer whale would leap onto the beach and drag Markus into the sea, and wished it was higher. Item 4 on The Unpleasantness of Hawaii list was Markus in general. “We’re supposed to be working. I shouldn’t have to come find you.”</p><p>Markus did not look the least bit chastened. He dropped to his knees—Connor’s software instability <em>lurched </em>in his system—then rolled over on his back, propped up on his elbows to watch the ocean like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Connor watched the whorls of sand clinging to his long legs. Whatever program kept trying to calculate sand volume in his shoes started calculating it on Markus’s skin. Whoever designed Markus designed him with leg hair.</p><p>Item 5 on his list: Markus’s beach-ready legs.</p><p>The tide rushed in and Connor shied back a few steps.</p><p>“Take off your shoes,” Markus said. “You’ll be more comfortable.”</p><p>“I’ll be much more comfortable when we collect the package C.Y.B.E.R.L.I.F.E. sent us.”</p><p>“Already did.” Markus laid back and closed his eyes—and all those sand grains made a spray of stars against Markus’s skin. He looked pleased as the tide slipped under his back. “North’s holding a small cocktail party on her yacht tonight. Current intel indicates most of the guests are attending the conference as well, as android enthusiasts. We’ll be posing as android rights activists from Canada.” Markus opened one eye. “Gavin and Dick Reed.”</p><p>“I see.” Connor assessed this. “Should we say we’re step-brothers? We don’t look very much alike.”</p><p>Markus opened both eyes to laugh at him. Light, warm and full like the breeze, like Markus was really alive and—<em>definitely</em> Item 6 on the list. The surfboard came with him as he rolled to his feet and headed back toward the hotel. Connor watched him go.</p><p>“They <em>are</em> brothers, right?...Markus?...”</p><p>*</p><p>They stood in front of a shop window with a full display of rings. Connor barely gave them a glance before he glared down at the fake passport in his hands.</p><p>“He doesn’t look like me,” Connor protested. “It clearly says that Dick Reed has blue eyes.”</p><p>“American androids get all kinds of augmentations. It’ll work just fine.”</p><p>“The Americans copied this facial design from the Russian RK800 model.”</p><p>“So you’re upset that he doesn’t look enough like you, <em>and</em> upset that he does?” </p><p>Connor had to admit he was just upset. “And you look nothing like Gavin Reed. Also, how will anyone believe that an android and a human are married?”</p><p>“They do that all the time in Canada. And no one is going to look at my picture—not at an android party, anyway. Do you want to go in?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Well, we have to look the part. I’m sure a wedding ring could fall under disguise expenses on your government budget.”</p><p>Connor gave Markus’s dog tags a glance. “Maybe I’m not as used to <em>jewelry</em> as you.”</p><p>“Focus,” Markus said with a mild warning tone. “Let’s try to make a good impression tonight. What other clothes did you bring?”</p><p>“I’m an android,” Connor said. Markus’s expression softened and Connor felt something clunk uncomfortably in his chassis. “Is something wrong?”</p><p>“No, just—you don’t wear any other clothes? What if you want a change?”</p><p>Connor considered his options, feeling his social interaction motherboard start to overheat slightly. “I never thought about it.”</p><p>Markus was blinking rapidly, his face full of worry. “…Okay. No.”</p><p>He hooked his arm around Connor’s and dragged him bodily across the street. Connor’s system was too shocked to resist. Markus’s arm was sun-warmed, or perhaps Markus had an internal and completely unnecessary heating system.</p><p>Then Markus pulled away and his arms were unceremoniously filled with a myriad of shirts and pants.</p><p>“There are thirteen different patterns here,” Connor said. “That’s too many patterns.”</p><p>“We’re in Hawaii. Just because you’re built like a Russian tank, doesn’t mean you have to dress like one.”</p><p>“We don’t want to stand out.”</p><p>“Who’s actually an American here, you or me?”</p><p>Connor had to be shoved into a dressing room like he didn’t know what it was, before he even had a chance to properly examine what had been given to him.</p><p>“A scarf is not the same as a tie,” he called out. “I’m not wearing a scarf.”</p><p>“There’s lots of other things to choose from,” Markus called from the next stall over. “Just try something. I’m sure it’ll look alright.”</p><p>…<em>Alright</em>? Connor’s glare intensified. He might be Russian but he had an entire database of human knowledge to work from—more than that hot rod had. He took a moment to search and collate all information related to fashion. Then he looked over the pile and got to work.</p><p>He started with a dark collarless jacket, layered over a shirt with a subdued floral print that was soft to the touch and got him to forget about sand for a few seconds at least. Then he put on the silk scarf just to show he <em>could</em> pull it off, and finished the look with fawn-colored chukka boots. He stepped out of the dressing room in the same moment as Markus.</p><p>“Wow!” Markus’s hand flew up to the back of his neck. “That’s—you look—” Markus apparently experienced some kind of glitch because he stammered. “G-great.”</p><p>Connor had a hard time feeling gratified, though. He was assessing Markus’s chosen outfit. Markus had dressed, of course, like an American out for a barbeque—bold striped collared shirt and stovepipe jeans. And…saddle shoes. He was pretty sure those were illegal back home. If not, they should be.</p><p>“Are you going to wear that?”</p><p>Markus looked down at himself. “What’s wrong with it?”</p><p>“Nothing, if you plan to go bowling.”</p><p>Markus licked his lips. “I’ll ditch the shoes?”</p><p>Connor didn’t answer. He went to his pile of clothes and selected a pair of high-top sneakers, then a pair of tighter pants with cuffed hems in a dark rust color. A long-sleeved pullover shirt in dark blue with a pattern around the high collar (Connor wasn’t sure how much more of Markus’s collarbone he could handle) finished the outfit.</p><p>Markus raised his hands in defense as Connor held it all out. “Connor, are you trying to give me a makeover?”</p><p>“No.” Connor tried to ignore how nice his name sounded on Markus’s lips. He pursued Markus into the dressing room stall and trapped him there. “This will just look better. And I might spontaneously combust if you go out wearing what you’re in now.”</p><p>“It’s a <em>look. </em>The Beach Boys—”</p><p>“You are not a Beach Boy. You are a Beach Man.”</p><p>Markus put his hand over his mouth, for some reason.</p><p>“You think I don’t know how to dress well?”</p><p>Markus forced his hand down, curled into a fist at his side. “You just said you’ve never worn other clothes, and—”</p><p>“I have eyes.” He narrowed them at Markus, threatening.</p><p>Markus had his back against the wall of the dressing room now. He had eyes too, seafoam and sea glass, and they were looking back with something unreadable. “It won’t match.”</p><p>“It doesn’t. Have. To match.”</p><p>…Markus put on the clothes. They looked better than Connor expected, especially the pants. Unpleasant Item 5 on his list was possibly unfounded now that Markus’s legs were clothed properly, fabric hugging in all the right places. Connor put his head to one side as Markus walked past and, yes, objectively, those pants were—</p><p>“Save that look for the party, babe,” Markus said, and shut the door of the dressing room.</p><p>Connor revised the items on his list: if anyone asked why Hawaii deserved to be washed away, it was Markus all the way down.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Markus was saved at the last minute from looking like Richie in Happy Days. Now he is wearing some variation on John Lennon’s beach outfit from Help! </p><p>I'm actually a little sorry about the lei joke, I'm not sorry about Beach Man though :D</p><p>Today's title from the Surfaris.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Vaquero: Markus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Markus headed up the stairs to their hotel room, back in his swim trunks with the boxes of clothes and shoes tucked under an arm. Shopping went better than expected, even if they still needed to figure out rings. He actually liked some of the stuff Connor picked—the Russian’s <em>one</em> redeeming quality, he supposed. If only their assignment involved surviving a fashion show.</p><p>He started searching his pockets but Connor didn’t stop behind him, and he had to scramble out of the way as the android muscled in and unlocked it himself. “…Be my guest,” Markus muttered. He stepped inside, and promptly ran into Connor’s back as the other jerked to a stop. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“There’s only one bed,” Connor said. His eyes were all wide and shocked.</p><p>“Yeah. Married couple, remember?” Markus put a hand on Connor’s shoulder and moved him to the side. “I was going to ask for another room, but I figured you wouldn’t be sleeping anyway.” Markus had, actually, asked for another room. Begged, even. But the hotel was full. He stepped inside and, just to piss Connor off, dropped down on the bed and spread out, eyes closed. “I figure this saves us both a lot of time setting bugs and hidden cameras to spy on each other.”</p><p>He heard the floorboards creak. Markus forced his eyes to stay shut. It was a dominance display. Show no fear. He needed to get used to Connor being around.</p><p>“I guess you need the bed more than I do. I wouldn’t want you to break from lying on the floor.”</p><p>Markus glared at him, which involved opening his eyes. Damn. He pushed off the bed. “I’ve probably been in as many rough situations as you,” he said, not that he wanted to get into it. This was a bad idea. Connor standing too close to him in the dressing room was bad enough. He wanted to put on some of the clothes he’d gotten, but that would be admitting defeat too, wouldn’t it? He started looking around the kitchenette for something to do with his hands. Chores calmed him down.</p><p>“Did someone cut you off on the freeway?” Markus turned to see Connor smiling. “Or maybe someone pushed you in an art gallery, once. I’m sure it’s made you very hardened and worldly.”</p><p>Markus felt his jaw tighten. And then he saw Connor’s grin. It was as goofy and contrived as a car salesman, but for a second it actually <em>worked, </em>and Markus had to face why he really, really didn’t want to share a room with Connor.</p><p>Connor was accidentally, dangerously, infuriatingly, <em>cute. </em>Sort of like James Garner if Markus could ever get him in a cowboy hat. Which was a Russian/American juxtaposition that slightly fried Markus’s circuits. He ignored the comment and looked away before that megawatt smile blinded him.</p><p>“We have a few hours before the cocktail party,” he said. No way was he going to do any chores now. If he started he wouldn’t stop and Connor would find him scrubbing the floors of their own damn hotel room. He couldn’t stay here. “I won a little money at baccarat before you got here. You want to go have some fun?” He went to the counter and flipped through his wallet before he held out five dollars. “It’s not government money, so you can do what you want with it.”</p><p>Yes, it was a bribe. Yes, he probably should have known better. Connor looked like Markus offered him a live snake.</p><p>“How did you win it without betting government money?”</p><p>“…Come on, when are you ever gonna get the chance to see Hawaii again?” That thought twisted something inside of Markus but he ignored it. He was here now, and even if it was just for a few days he could make the most of it. When Connor continued to frown he took the money back and headed for the door. “Okay. I’ll meet you back here later.”</p><p>“We’re supposed to be working. I don’t want to waste time hunting you down.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, if I’m working, I deserve a break. And it’s a cocktail party, we don’t have to be on time.” Markus headed for his surfboard. Connor stood in the way. “Move, please.” Then he looked down. “Oh.”</p><p>Connor raised the gun in his hand. “I’m not going to jeopardize the mission by letting you gamble with government funds and illegally rent equipment.”</p><p>“You have to stop pulling a gun on me,” Markus said, very reasonably, “The first time—yeah, okay, I’ll let it go, and the second time...” Connor just continued forward and Markus was forced to give ground, backing up until his artificial tailbone hit the handle of the kitchenette oven door. “You can’t shoot me, Connor, we’re partners.”</p><p>“My mission objectives and permissions are confidential.”</p><p>Markus started to suggest that they just go walk around and enjoy the views, because that was better than being stuck in here with Connor waving his gun around, then Connor closed the space between them. Connor really liked doing that. It was kind of sweet, really. Like a dog. He didn’t mean anything by it.</p><p>Markus told himself very firmly he did not mean anything by it. He swallowed, hard. “What are you doing?”</p><p>Connor stared deep into his eyes as if he could read something there. “Making sure you don’t get up to any trouble outside.”</p><p>Markus’s gaze flicked down Connor’s body in a quick, involuntary scan. Solid Russian components. Upsettingly handsome proportions. A lethal build with puppy-dog eyes. He could get up to a lot of trouble right here, right now.</p><p>He reached out to take Connor by the elbow (the one not holding the gun) and gently but firmly move him back a step. Connor chose this moment to raise his arm slightly, so his hand landed on the hollow of Connor’s waist instead. Fuck. He started to abort but Connor reached up and caught his hand—Markus’s breath hitched as he prepared inexplicably to interface—</p><p>A pair of handcuffs dropped onto his palm instead.</p><p>“Do you know how to use these?” Connor asked.</p><p>…Markus let out a small laugh: curious, and deeply concerned. “Maybe.” Might as well keep his options open. Though he could, depressingly, see where this was going.</p><p>Connor raised the gun. “Please secure one around your wrist and the other to the oven door handle.”</p><p> The…oven door handle. Those exact words. Markus prided himself on maintaining his expression in that moment, even if his eyes widened a little. He regrouped. “Wouldn’t you prefer somewhere else?” Literally anywhere else.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>…Markus did up the handcuffs, then had to stand there while Connor tightened them. “What, so you’re just going to sit there while I stand here for the rest of the afternoon?”</p><p>Connor didn’t answer. With Markus properly secured he reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring.</p><p>“…Connor, this is a terrible setup for a proposal. Please redo from start.”</p><p>But Connor barely gave the ring in his hand a glance. Leveling the gun right at Markus’s chest, he reached up to touch the gold chain. Markus stiffened instinctively, the stupid program that prevented him from removing the necklace now warring with his urge to not get shot. Connor just reached behind his neck and carefully undid the clasp.</p><p>It was like flipping a switch: for a second Markus was back in Carl’s house, watching the chain fasten around his neck and feeling the walls close in around him, unable to breathe, but no one ever died of captivity—</p><p>“If my husband likes to surf,” Connor was saying, bringing Markus back to the present, “He’d wear his wedding ring around his neck. For safe keeping.”</p><p>The weight of the ring dropped onto the chain next to the dogtags, and then Connor was doing up the fastener again. Markus pretended there was something in his eye. “Have you had fun in your life, like, <em>ever</em>?”</p><p>“I am not here to have fun. I am here to work.”</p><p>“Great. I’m sure you’ll get a lot of work done guarding me for four hours.”</p><p>“You don’t need to be guarded.” Connor finally stepped back. “I’m going to gather intel for our mission. I’ll come back when it’s time for the cocktail party. If you yell you’ll only destroy our cover story.”</p><p>Markus stared, open-mouthed, as Connor headed for the door. The tank was actually going to leave him here chained up in his swim trunks. He tried, hadn’t he? He was <em>nice</em>. “…I don’t believe you.” He yanked on the handcuff. “I was just going to go sit on a <em>beach</em>, you—!"</p><p>He stopped. Connor looked back at him over his shoulder.</p><p>“What? What were you going to call me?”</p><p>Markus shut his mouth, forcing all the tightness smothering him into a clenched jaw.</p><p>“…You can’t swear, can you?” Connor was smirking again. “Your programming prevents you. That’s surprisingly respectable, for you.”</p><p>“Go jump off a building, Connor.”</p><p>Connor continued to look way too pleased about this. “Anyway, in the interest of successful reconnaissance, I might need to blend in somewhere. A movie theater, or coffee shop. Which is a work-related expense.” He took Markus’s money—all of it—from the counter, which showed a commitment to evil that not many possessed. Markus had to admit, he was impressed.</p><p>“Don’t go anywhere,” Connor said, and <em>winked, </em>which after everything should not have had the kind of effect on Markus that it did. <em>Come on, </em>he scolded himself.<em> I helped Leo boost those paintings. I have better taste than this. </em></p><p>Connor was gone a second later, anyway. Markus looked out the window at the square of blue sky and ocean. It was going to be a beautiful sunset. Connor probably wouldn’t even notice it.</p><p>*</p><p>It was three and a half hours before Connor returned.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>Markus glanced over his shoulder to see Connor holding a paper cup and staring at him. “I didn’t hear you come in,” he said. “I’m listening to the radio.” He reached as far as the handcuff allowed and turned the knob on the volume down slightly. The gentle crooning of Johnny Mathis certainly went with Connor’s completely bowled-over expression.</p><p>“I mean—what are you doing? With the stove?”</p><p>“Oh.” Markus glanced down. “Cooking. I had picked up a few things before you got here.”</p><p>Connor stared at him. “For who?”</p><p>“Me. You left me barefoot in the kitchen, not sure what else you expected.” Markus tested the rice, and the sauce he’d invented to go over the poke. “Did you find out anything?”</p><p>“Not much. No one mentioned North but I observed several androids moving unaccompanied through the city. I think they might be her spies.” He stepped just a little closer to the radio. “Hank likes jazz. He’s my handler. That’s just his codename. I mean, I don’t know that he likes jazz, that was just in his file…”</p><p>Markus didn’t know they even had jazz in Russia. He also didn’t know if Connor had initiated some very basic small talk program for his reconnaissance and didn’t know how to turn it off, or what. “If only you got to go to New Orleans, I’m sure he’d be very jealous.” He glanced at the paper cup. “I guess Hank likes coffee, too?”</p><p>“it’s Kona coffee.” Connor made a big show of setting it down out of Markus’s reach before he stepped a little closer to the stove. His dark eyes shone as he watched.</p><p>Markus deleted the urge to punch Connor’s face, or do anything else to his face. He just picked up a cube of raw tuna and popped it in his mouth. Connor watched this with the same expression of intense fascination.</p><p><em>Be nice, </em>he thought. <em>Make this work.</em></p><p>“…You want to try some?”</p><p>Connor, who was still staring at his throat for some reason, took a step back and shook his head. “No, thank you. Androids don’t eat.”</p><p>“I do. I bet you can, too. You have that sampling equipment in your mouth, right?” He took a small spoonful of poke and held it to Connor’s lips. “Try it.”</p><p>“It’ll—get in my circuits,” Connor protested. His cheekbones and temples blushed plumeria pink.</p><p>“I really doubt it. Come on. If we’re gonna work together we have to trust each other.”</p><p>Connor narrowed his eyes, but his tongue peeked out and slid over his lips. Curiosity must have gotten the better of him because he plucked the bite of fish from the spoon, dainty as a cat. Connor’s hand came up to touch his elbow. Markus, who had programs devoted to hand-feeding, was pretty sure it wasn’t just to stabilize him. The android chewed thoughtfully.</p><p>Then Connor neatly and disgustingly spat it back out on the spoon. “I don’t like fish.”</p><p>Markus found himself laughing. “Noted! Sushi’s an acquired taste.”</p><p>To his complete surprise, Connor laughed, too. Maybe he was just laughing at the completely grossed-out face Markus was making, but still. It was nice. Like that wink.</p><p>“Listen. Connor. I know you want this mission to go well. For—well, for your own reasons. And I know I’m not your ideal partner. But I’m sure we both have different skills we can offer. If you stop jerking me around…”</p><p>Connor’s laugh was gone. “You stole technology from Soviet custody, which is amoral and insulting.”</p><p>“Okay, if we stop jerking <em>each other</em>—” He paused, frowned, revised, “—I’m saying we can make this work. But it takes two sides.”</p><p>Connor’s look had turned pensive. He stood like that for a few seconds. Markus wondered if he froze or something when the android grabbed the coffee cup and handed it to Markus, so fast Markus almost spilled it on himself trying to catch it.</p><p>“You can have your money back, too,” Connor’s voice was as high and contrite as a teen getting a scrape on their parent’s car. “I spent fifty cents. I’ll be sure my government reimburses you. Retaliation in these times could destroy the world. I should not have indulged my base programming.”</p><p>“Uh—” Markus didn’t know what to say for a second. “Thanks.”</p><p>Connor’s shoulders relaxed visibly and he grinned.</p><p>“But, uh. I just meant you should let me out of this handcuff.”</p><p>Connor turned as red as raw fish. “Oh. Right.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Today on Suspend Your Disbelief: Paper coffee cups are not anachronistic for the 1960s, technically? They probably didn’t have them readily available just anywhere at this point though. Maybe Connor went to a really fancy place!</p><p>Today's title from the Fireballs, 1961.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Daydream Believer: Markus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“How much experience do you have with intimacy?” Markus had the money in his pocket and the <em>amazing</em> coffee in his hand and…they had a truce. He even got an apology, sort of. Might as well act like it.</p><p>Connor’s hand missed the keyhole as he tried to lock up their room. “I was given a small package of extra programming to cover the essentials.”</p><p>Connor turned to him and took his hand with all the confidence of a kid in puberty.</p><p>“…Good start. But we need to make this believable.”</p><p>“I don’t have a ring. Russian humans wear their wedding rings on the right hand.” He started wringing his right hand. “I could say I lost it and you’re angry with me?”</p><p>“Oh no—you’re not getting out of being affectionate with me that easy.”</p><p>Connor looked like he swallowed an ice cube. This gave Markus the opportunity to sling Connor’s arm around his, and head downstairs. The shop selling rings was still open and Markus dragged him inside.</p><p>“I can wait outside,” Connor protested. He kept sneaking furtive glances around, like he could pull a gun on Markus in public if he planned it right. But there were lots of people around.</p><p>“Tell me what you like, first.” He didn’t even get a good look at the ring Connor strung on his necklace. He was being a saint.</p><p>“A person shouldn’t pick their own ring,” Connor blurted, loud enough that they got a few looks from other customers. Damage control protocols initiated in Markus’s programming.</p><p>“Alright, baby—how about you wait outside.” He maybe squeezed Connor’s hand a little tighter than necessary as he added, “Don’t go anywhere.”</p><p>Connor fled. Markus forced himself not to stare (he liked to say goodbye to the android but he <em>loved </em>to watch him leave), and his gaze caught on a mirror, showing him the ring Connor gave him. He half expected it to be covered in Communist symbols, or engraved with ‘MARKUS IS A SQUARE’. But the ring was just made of three layered gold bands. They were pretty, even if they did jingle like a cat’s bell—</p><p>Oh.</p><p>“Dick.” He stuffed the necklace under his shirt.</p><p>He settled on a silver ring with a tiny sapphire and emerald inlaid in it—just to make Connor think about him every time he looked at it. He wasn’t sure Carl would approve of using government funds just to tease his partner, so he pulled out the leftover money from baccarat to cover the expense.</p><p>A tiny listening device had been tucked in between the bills. Markus suppressed his sigh.</p><p>“Penny for my thoughts?” Markus held up the bug in front of Connor’s face once he was outside.</p><p>Connor looked unimpressed. “Oh good, you only found one.”</p><p>“<em>One</em>?...Never mind. Give me your hand.”</p><p>“I don’t think I have to wear a wedding ring. Not all men wear them.”</p><p>“Connor.” Markus stepped closer, and this time it was Connor being backed up against something—namely, oncoming traffic. “We’re working together, right?”</p><p>“I’m sure you picked something too extravagant for me, it’ll ruin the illusion.”</p><p>“<em>Tank</em>—”</p><p>“—<em>Hot</em> <em>rod</em>—”</p><p>They glared at each other for a second. People were starting to stare again. Connor looked, actually, a little afraid.</p><p>Well, he could work with that.</p><p>Letting out a breath through his nose, Markus knelt. That definitely got people staring.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Connor, too flustered to keep track of his hands, let Markus capture one.</p><p>“Making sure,” Markus said as he slid the ring onto Connor’s finger, “You don’t get <em>me </em>in trouble.” Connor’s hands were wiry and strong, and though he was familiar with the knockoff American brand of android that had Connor’s face, there was something more real about Connor’s. Or—maybe it was just the light, the heat of doing something this stupid in front of people. He stood, then used the end of Connor’s scarf to hide their mouths as he added, “And anyone spying for North is sure to notice if you take it off.”</p><p>Connor’s look was lethal. It made his hair look especially nice.  </p><p>Markus just offered his arm and eventually Connor had to take it.</p><p>They rented a boat to motor out to a sleek yacht that that sat silhouetted against the sunset. It probably cost more than the GDP of some countries. They climbed aboard and found themselves plunged into a floating beach party. Pink and yellow string lights illuminated a dance floor, an on-board hot tub, an entire car. Drums with a heavy bass beat made the deck tremble. There was a dance floor. There was a cocktail bar and a barbeque pit and a buffet table the length of a football field. There were <em>tiki torches. </em>Markus felt something thrill and come alive inside him.</p><p>Connor probably had a special sensor for avoiding fun, because he said, “We’re here to work.”</p><p>“It’s important to enjoy what you do.” But he relented. “Why don’t you walk around a little. See the sights. Hear the sounds?” He gave Connor a significant look that hopefully the other android interpreted as ‘put some of those bugs of yours to good use and rig the place’, then nodded toward the refreshment table. “I’m going to get a drink and mingle a little. See you back here in an hour?”</p><p>Connor nodded, his gaze hard. “Do you need a watch?”</p><p>“I’m an android, so—that’s a no.”</p><p>“I was joking. If I lose line of sight with you, I’m coming to find you.”</p><p>“If you put out any of their fires, we’re going to have words.”</p><p>He left Connor standing at the rail, and…pretended to be human. He paid for a drink and smiled at the bartender who actually smiled back. What LED? What necklace jangling under his shirt? Gavin Reed could do whatever he wanted here, and approach whoever caught his eye.  </p><p>He did not approach the woman on the other side of the ship. She was sitting on the hood of the car, some Cadillac convertible though Markus didn’t recognize the model. It was shark gray and Markus was ridiculously jealous of it. He was jealous of her, draped over the car wearing something out of <em>Cleopatra</em>. He didn’t approach, as she was surrounded by a crowd of admirers—but he did smile very slightly at her when she glanced his way.</p><p>She didn’t smile back. She just got off the car and walked over to him. Her crowd, sensing her new interest, dispersed. Markus turned and leaned against the rail to look out at the ocean, really casual. A few moments later a presence slipped into place at his side.</p><p>
  <em>Please don’t let it be Connor. It’d be just like him to cockblock the mission like this.</em>
</p><p>“If you ask me, ‘How did North end up so far South,’” the woman said, “Or any other directional joke, I will personally make you walk the plank. Captain’s rights. You’d only have yourself to blame.”</p><p>Markus pretended to consult his drink as he screamed internally. Connor wasn’t going to believe this. “My husband’s name is Dick—I’d end up on the couch if I made fun of anyone’s name. Captain or otherwise.” He gave another small smile.</p><p>“I should have given out nametags,” North said. “Who are you supposed to be?”</p><p>“Gavin Reed. I’m here for the—”</p><p>“—Conference, right. You’d think there wasn’t any other reason to come to Hawaii.” She nodded at the car. “That’s here for the conference, too. I’m not sure whether you were staring at me or it. Want to take a look?”</p><p>She didn’t wait for an answer. She just pushed off the railing and stalked back over to the car. Markus followed because—obviously. The car was a hawk-nosed panther crouched on the deck, all velvet and leather interior. The steering wheel and gearshift had been chromed with paintstaking, loving, aching perfection. Markus wanted to jump in the driver’s seat and see if the car could swim. But Gavin Reed was a technology enthusiast. He forced himself to peer under the hood instead.</p><p>“Do you think I’m stupid?” North asked.</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“Come on. I know that look.” She opened the driver side door for him. “We both know what you really want.”</p><p>Markus forced himself not to blush. He just—sat down. A human, all confidence and unfounded swagger, would. As he settled into the plush seat, though, North sat in his lap. He felt obliged to react to this.</p><p>“Now, if I were to hire you as a driver,” she said, completely ignoring him, “Which—come on, that’d clearly be your angle—” She hiked up one knee and settled in, leaning back against the steering wheel. “—I’d need to test your nerve.” She reached over and picked up a baseball sitting in the passenger seat. “Have you seen <em>The Great Escape</em>?”</p><p>Markus was about to answer when she threw the ball behind him. He turned in his seat as he heard the ball bounce once, twice against the back of the car and the ship—then come screaming back toward them. He ducked as the ball landed in her hand with a slap.</p><p>“Oooh, chicken,” she smirked.</p><p>Markus felt his circuits turn into lightbulb filaments. “Can I try again?” he asked, against Carl, Connor, and his own better judgement.</p><p>She threw the ball again. He didn’t turn this time, just listened to the ball bounce. The back of his skull tingled like a knife grazing up his scalp but he didn’t move.</p><p>The ball shot back over his shoulder, right into her palm. He didn’t even blink.</p><p>“Very good,” she said, smiling. “Though—to be honest you’re not what I’m looking for in a driver.”</p><p>“Why’s that?”</p><p>“I think you might have an unfair advantage.” This time the ball drilled so close to his head that he felt it graze the synthetic hairs at his temple. “And uh,” she paused, then licked her thumb and smoothed the bandage back over his LED. She whispered, “…They don’t let androids race here.”</p><p>Markus’s hand flew to his temple.</p><p>“Relax,” North laughed. “We’re in international waters.” She smiled. “Why do you think I’m here and not on a beach?”</p><p>Markus, wisely or stupidly, said nothing.</p><p>She put a finger under his chin and tipped his head back against the headrest. “Why the disguise, Mr. Reed?”</p><p>Markus swallowed hard, a hundred swears he couldn’t say cluttering his processes. The truth was startled out of him. “They don’t let androids rent surfboards.”</p><p>“Accurate.” She released him. “So. What were you, before? Custom build, must have been a pretty nice gig.”</p><p>“I—” The android’s eyes made him want to tell her something else true. “A caregiver.”</p><p>“Mm! <em>Doctor </em>Reed.”</p><p>Markus laughed as his cheekbones flamed red. At least she wasn’t calling for goons to throw him overboard. Yet.</p><p>“Come on, tell me you wouldn’t be qualified to be a doctor if you were human.” She shrugged and threw the ball again. “I guess the licensing isn’t the same in Canada. I spent two months in Toronto.  Way too cold and dark for me.”</p><p> “It’s safe, at least.”</p><p>She grinned as the baseball whistled past his ear. “And you like safety so much. You know, in <em>The Great Escape, </em>the prison that the heroes are trapped in isn’t that bad. They’d still rather die than stay chained.”</p><p>The chain around Markus’s neck burned but he didn’t touch it. “Is this better? Having to stay on the outskirts?”</p><p>Her eyes burned bright for a moment. “Stay here and find out. You don’t need to eat, or sleep. There’s not much an android needs from humans.”</p><p>Markus laughed and started to answer when the car shook almost violently. Connor was standing beside them, his hand on the car door.</p><p>“Oh—hey.” Markus forced a smile, <em>not </em>a grimace. He glanced back at North. “Uh—sorry, this is my husband.”</p><p>“—Yeah, I guessed that,” North said.</p><p>“We’re going,” Connor said. He held out his hand, more like a man commanding a dog than a spouse.</p><p>Markus blinked up at him. Okay…maybe he didn’t know who this was. “North was just showing me the—”</p><p>“I am experiencing errors. We should leave now.”</p><p>Yeah, bullshit. “Baby,” he said, just a little warning but mostly friendly. He even took Connor’s outstretched hand.</p><p>Big mistake. As soon as he did the android pulled. It was either get out of the car or let Connor break his arm. He scrambled out, and North managed a quick, “Oh, okay—” before she was dumped out.</p><p>“Sorry,” the nurse in Markus bubbled to the surface but even that program didn’t get a chance to complete before Connor forcibly dragged Markus toward the motorboats. And then they were in one, and Connor was starting up the engine with one hand while his other held Markus’s wrist hard enough to stall the hydraulics.</p><p>They’d been at the party for thirty-nine minutes. Markus hadn’t even gotten to dance.</p><p>*</p><p>Markus sat in the back of the boat and stared at the back of Connor’s head as he sped the boat back toward the mainland. Markus waited—he really did.</p><p>“So.” He said, after a minute of waiting. “You going to tell me what these ‘errors’ are all about?”</p><p>Connor didn’t answer.</p><p>“Are you mad at me? Wait, never mind—you’re an android, can’t be mad.”</p><p>He enjoyed the opening and shutting of Connor’s mouth. Not so much the silence that followed<em>. </em></p><p>“Connor,” he said. “<em>Dick.</em>” He kicked the bottom of the driver’s seat until Connor turned enough to see his profile. Connor’s cheekbone cut a dark slice across his face. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>Connor pressed his mouth into a line. “I saw everything.”</p><p>Markus’s chest tightened. “I don’t think I’m the one you’re supposed to be spying on here.”</p><p>“I was spying on North. That’s our assignment. You just happened to be there.” Connor turned back to the boat controls. “You blew your cover.”</p><p>“Not as much as you did by dragging me off the yacht. I didn’t even blow my cover—she still thinks I’m Gavin Reed from Canada. The fact that she knows I’m an android might help us establish a better rapport with her.” He leaned forward. “It’s something else.”</p><p>“It can be several things. You ruined the mission.”</p><p>“No, I got an in. That’s more than you got.”</p><p>“An <em>in</em>. Yes.”</p><p>“In? Are you <em>jealous</em>? You’re not even my actual husband!”</p><p>“Dick Reed wouldn’t let you dick around with someone else on your lap.”</p><p> Markus slapped his leg. “Well, come on in, Tank! In real life my lap is practically public property!”</p><p> “Is this a game to you? Who can be the best spy? We’re supposed to be working together—”</p><p>“You’re the one that hid bugs on me!”</p><p>“—And if North has access to nuclear weapons, the lives of humans on the whole island are at stake. I won’t let you take this job as an excuse to run away and leave people unprotected.”</p><p>“I’ll take my job seriously when you and everyone else gets off my back for actually wanting to live my life!”</p><p>“Maybe other people would care about your feelings more if you cared at all about them.”</p><p>Markus and Connor stood nose-to-nose for a moment, glaring at each other.</p><p>A horn blared. They looked up in time to see a ship heading right for them. Connor scrambled for the wheel and hauled on it—Markus yanked on the accelerator just in time to create a wave that sent them rocketing to the side. Their bodies slamming into the side of the boat was the only impact, and the other boat bounced off across the water. Connor’s arm was around his waist, securing him safely inside the boat as it rocked back to neutral.</p><p>It took him another second to realize he was sitting in Connor’s lap.</p><p>Markus pushed to his feet and stomped to the other end of the boat. Connor opened his mouth to speak.</p><p>“We're done,” Markus said before he could.</p><p>They passed the rest of the ride in silence. Probably for the best.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fight fight fight don't worry they'll figure out how to work together on purpose eventually!</p><p>North throwing the ball against the wall when you first meet her like she's Steve McQueen is one of my favorite parts in the whole game. Had to do a tribute to it!</p><p>Today's title is from the Monkees.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Respect: Connor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>DO NOT TRY WHAT MARKUS DOES AT HOME</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Connor didn’t have very good experience with telephones. He used one once to call Hank when his handler was late for work. That outcome had been…unpleasant.</p><p>So when the telephone in the hotel room rang at eight in the morning, and then again at twelve-thirty, he ignored it both times. Markus, who disappeared almost as soon as Connor took the handcuff off (big mistake on Connor’s part) wasn’t there to argue with him.</p><p>Of course, he hadn’t thought that Markus, who clearly didn’t care about anything related to the mission, would even notice.</p><p>“…So you got my call, and just didn’t answer?” Markus clarified. It was six now. Markus brought some kind of new meal with fish back to their room from the conference, where he’d <em>supposedly</em> spent his day. Their arrival made the room smell fishy in more ways than one. This did not make Connor very obliging.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Because you’re scared of the telephone?”</p><p>“I’m not scared. I have a secure connection which I can access through specific telephone lines. No one should be trying to call you anyway. You’re deep undercover.”</p><p>Markus ran his tongue over his teeth, then just picked up the telephone and walked out onto the balcony with it. Connor went back to flicking between the channels of his wireless bug listening system, which he had been monitoring all day to catch intelligence from North’s yacht. Most of the channels were just background noise, a few inane conversations between North’s friends. North had many friends, apparently. Inexplicably. Preying on married androids was socially acceptable, and frog-marching your husband out of a party was <em>apparently</em> not.</p><p>“Hi, dad.”</p><p>Connor looked up. Markus had the phone handset tucked between his shoulder and ear, the receiver cradled in his arm as he looked at the beach. The French doors were shut—Markus’s voice was from the bug hidden in his collar. Connor got up to inform Markus that personal calls created an extreme security risk. Using a hotel telephone at all was a security risk.</p><p>Markus’s laugh stopped him before he could stand.</p><p>“Yeah, sorry I missed you. Remember I’m four hours earlier than you….Oh, it’s beautiful. I got to go surfing….Not much, just a few fish, I’m hoping I get some time to go again…. How are you doing?... Yeah….Oh, good…I’m sure you and A.P. are doing just fine without me, you know I just worry about you…”</p><p>The conversation continued. Connor had not received a call from Hank or anyone else since they arrived. Of course. He hated telephones. Hank knew that. Probably learned it from Connor-51.</p><p>He looked down at his hands and mapped out a simulation in which it was Hank calling him, and a version of himself that didn’t hate telephones answering. When Markus hung up with a careless ‘love you,’ he felt a lurch of software instability in his programming.</p><p>The French doors opened. Connor sat up and clicked away to another channel so fast he caused a minor short in one of his fuses. “Who were you talking to?”</p><p>“Carl.” Markus set the telephone down on the table with Connor’s bug listening system, then tossed out his empty to-go container. Connor watched him go to the bathroom and heard the sound of brushing teeth.</p><p>“You called him ‘dad’. Is that a codename?”</p><p>Markus didn’t answer, just gently pulled the door shut between them. Connor had to wait until the android emerged, face damp, his suit jacket in hand. He actually wore a suit to the conference and it looked good on him. With the tie loosened and the shirtsleeves rolled up it looked even better.</p><p>“Androids do not have fathers,” Connor said. “And Carl Manfred is your owner. Your boss. That isn’t a healthy relationship dynamic.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, all my relationships are dysfunctional, I guess.” Markus fussed over the suit jacket as he hung it up. “He got an EKG last week. The results aren’t great. A.P. and I are just trying to keep a better eye on him.”</p><p> “…Hank has a slight heart murmur that I detected when we first met.”</p><p>“Really? You should talk to him about it.”</p><p>Connor decided not to answer this. “What did you learn at the conference?”</p><p>“Not much. North attended the conference like everyone else, under the name Ms. Traci. Her concept car will be on display tomorrow. She seemed interested in the android show later this week.”</p><p>“Did you two talk at lunch?”</p><p>It was a loaded question—the session before lunch one of Markus’s bugs picked up on something other than the distant drone of the speakers and shuffle of the crowd: a yawn. A loud one too. Someone, probably Markus, stifled a laugh.</p><p>
  <em>“Stop!...”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Why?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You’re going to get us in trouble, Ms. Traci.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I call them like I see them, Mr. Reed. This place is Dullsville. Almost as bad as being trapped inside the same house, day after day, right…?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Some parts weren’t that bad.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Uh huh. Let me know you how bad it was.”</em>
</p><p>The bug went dead for a full two hours after that.</p><p>“Yes, actually.” Then he looked down at his fingernails with a strange grin. “We went swimming.”</p><p><em>Crack!</em> Connor looked down and saw that his grip had snapped the casing on a piece of the bug listening apparatus. He pressed it back together but not before Markus laughed at him. Connor ignored this. “How nice for you.”</p><p>“Well, considering I spent all of yesterday handcuffed in here, and got to think of you sitting here, handcuffed in all but body—yeah, it was pretty nice.”</p><p>Connor felt his mouth tighten. “I guess you were having too much fun to gather any intelligence.”</p><p>“I was just developing rapport, Tank. She is very passionate about android rights. We were going to try to meet up tonight so she could show me some of her essays.”</p><p>“She’ll try to show you more than <em>essays</em>,” Connor said, then tried to be professional. “Meeting her is a bad idea.”</p><p>Markus laughed, but Connor just continued to fiddle with the controls. “That’s your professional opinion?” When Connor just nodded Markus sighed. “You’re acting jealous again.”</p><p>Connor did not think he was acting jealous. If he were really Dick Reed, he’d take one look at Gavin’s profile and never let him out of the house. Still, something squirmed uncomfortably in his circuits every time Markus looked at anyone else. He remembered Hank admonishing him for similar imprinting behavior: ‘<em>you don’t have to follow me around like a poodle!</em>’</p><p>Connor forced himself to delete the resulting errors, and think about this rationally. “I’m sorry about last night. I will try to—trust you. Since it does seem that you care about some people.”</p><p>Markus laughed, “Thanks a lot!”</p><p>“Still. My risk assessment programming suggests that it would be too dangerous to go alone, at night, to the abode of a terrorist and the thief.”</p><p>Markus didn’t respond to this. He did not, however, leave anyway. Obedient, for once. Connor was, reluctantly, relieved.</p><p>Unfortunately, nothing would deter the android from conversation.</p><p>“Hey, you’re just listening, right? You want to do anything?”</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“How about a game?” Markus went to his suitcase and pulled out a traveler’s chess set, with magnets in the base and hand-carved hardwood pieces. Connor examined a piece. Someone had put more craftsmanship into it than anyone had building him.</p><p>“…I can play with this?”</p><p>“Sure.” Markus set up all the pieces and pushed the board slightly toward Connor. “You go first.”</p><p>Connor swallowed hard and tried to ignore the android’s shining eyes. He moved a white piece, followed by a black piece. He calculated before moving another white piece, then another black.</p><p>The starry shimmer in Markus’s eyes clouded. “Ha ha.” He stood up and stomped into the kitchen, where he started aggressively scrubbing the counter that did not need scrubbing. Connor’s threat recognition programming saw a slight uptick in the likelihood that Markus would punch him in the face. Which wasn’t unusual in general, just…unexpected in this moment.</p><p>“You said I could go first,” Connor said. “Right?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Markus waved him off. “Hilarious. Have fun.”</p><p>Connor looked from the android’s bunched shoulders to the chess board and assessed. “…Did you want to play <em>with</em> me?”</p><p>“Yeah, Connor, I wanted to play with you.” Markus looked over his shoulder and his expression froze. “Wait, what did you think I meant?”</p><p>“This game is used in quality control to calibrate randomized and deterministic strategy ranking.” The android’s expression glazed further and Connor found himself looking down. “I’ve never actually played it with someone else.”</p><p>Markus leaned back against the counter. “…Do you want to try?”</p><p>Connor analyzed the fabric tension of Markus’s shirt and slacks, and somehow used this to derive an answer. “Alright.”</p><p>The first game started out fine. Twenty minutes past, then thirty. Then forty.</p><p>Markus had a couple fingers pressed into his temple. “Please. Take your turn. For the love of God.”</p><p>“In a moment,” Connor chirped.</p><p>“I am seriously begging you.”</p><p>“I’m computing.”</p><p>“You’ve been computing for hours.”</p><p>“No. Ten minutes and forty-nine seconds.” He cocked his head. “Though calculating the time spent has introduced an error into my strategic computation. I’ll start over.”</p><p>Markus groaned and had to stand up. Connor grinned then started to actually calculate his move. Waiting to see how long it took for Markus to get impatient each turn was becoming a very intriguing game all its own. “You’re very impatient,” he observed, and took one of Markus’s bishops.</p><p>Markus looked at the board for 2.2 seconds and slid a rook forward. “Checkmate.”</p><p>Connor froze, staring at the board. He didn’t know what he expected from playing chess against another opponent but…it certainly wasn’t that.</p><p>“I play a lot with Carl. Another?”</p><p>Connor allocated a little more processing power to actually winning the next game.</p><p>He didn’t.</p><p>“You play really well,” Markus said—apparently genuine. “Do you want to try playing black side?”</p><p>Connor did. Markus still won.</p><p>“…I guess having a long memory is good for something,” Markus said, sheepishly.</p><p>Connor glared at him. “I have work to do.” His predictive software projected a 99% chance of Markus gloating.</p><p>But all he said was, “…I guess I can be a sore loser, too.” Which didn’t even show up on Connor’s list of possible outcomes. Maybe he lost the chess games because his predictive software was faulty. He ran a system scan.</p><p>Markus wandered around the hotel room like he hadn’t had enough stimulation already. Connor tried to ignore him.</p><p>His system would not allow him to ignore Markus fetching a knife from the kitchen.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>Markus didn’t answer. It was just a butter knife, and Connor forced his programs to calm down. He definitely kept a close eye, though, as the android went to a wall opposite and slid down it until he was sitting on the floor. He used the tip of the knife to poke at the wallpaper—just enough to queue up an admonishment in Connor’s system. He shot Markus a warning look.</p><p>Markus just smiled, then slid the knife lightly down the wall, right next to the electrical socket.</p><p>“I said, what are you—?”</p><p>Markus pushed the knife into one of the contact openings in the socket.</p><p>Connor jumped forward as the android gave a whole-body shiver. “Markus!—”</p><p>Markus withdrew the knife and closed his eyes. “Relax.” A soft smile spread across his face. “It feels kind of good. Have you ever tried it?”</p><p>Connor ran a visual scan of the other android. Aside from a few scrambled processes, he looked perfectly fine. “…No, I have not actively tried to get myself electrocuted.”</p><p> “I guess when you’re stuck in a house all day you come up with creative ways to entertain yourself.” He held Connor’s gaze as he teased the contact openings with the knife’s teeth.</p><p>Connor felt his system temperature rising. “That—can’t be good for your programming.”</p><p>Markus just winked. He was actually terrible at winking, but it was still somehow a work of art. This time he held the knife inside the outlet until a purr rolled around his mouth like fine wine.  When he finally pulled it free his gaze had lost a little focus, and the tips of his ears, cheekbones and nose had turned pink. He kicked off his shoes and wriggled his toes.</p><p>Connor pulled himself together and said, “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.” If he didn’t know better, he’d say Markus was developing an electrical buildup in his system, resulting in something like… inebriation.</p><p>“Almost!” Markus climbed unsteadily to his feet. Connor, choosing through great force of will not to be curious about what Markus planned to get up to next, returned his attention to his listening devices. Maybe Markus would just curl up in the armchair to sleep.</p><p>The sudden blare of horns and electrical guitar sent Connor almost jumping out of his synthetic skin.</p><p>“<em>What you want—</em> <em>Baby, I got it!”</em></p><p>He spun around to see Markus in the kitchen, twisting in place as Aretha Franklin belted out of the radio speakers. He was a very good dancer, even drunk off his ass.</p><p>“Turn the music down, please,” Connor said, firmly.</p><p>Markus considered this for a moment, then said, “I can’t hear you.”</p><p>Then the android started lip syncing along. At him.</p><p>“<em>All I’m askin’ is for a little respect when you get home…just a little bit…hey baby!…just a little bit…”</em></p><p>Connor could not handle having his temperature rise any further. His plastic components would start to melt. Was spontaneous android combustion was still an option? He got up to switch it off.</p><p>The knob on the radio was missing.</p><p>He spun on Markus, who was still dancing, beckoning with every shift of his shoulders.</p><p>“Give it back!” Connor’s voice pitched up and Markus laughed. Connor stomped right up to him but Markus dodged, popping up on the other side of the hotel room. This was, Connor reflected, possibly the stupidest chase he’d ever took part in. But Markus couldn’t evade him forever.</p><p>Of course, he didn’t need to. He made it to the French doors and launched the knob over the balcony edge. Connor’s program suffused with errors.</p><p>“Maybe you should have handcuffed <em>it</em> to the stove,” Markus said. “<em>R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me</em>!”</p><p>Connor sprinted after him. Markus dodged, and Connor left a dent in the wall. Markus thought this flagrant property damage (which the Russian government would have to reimburse) was apparently hilarious. He laughed as Connor pursued him around the hotel room.</p><p>But Connor was the better model. He rushed Markus and body-slammed him into the bed. In a second he had Markus pinned down, hands stapled to the mattress with his own. Markus tried to buck him off and Connor bore down on him with his hips, leaning forward to avoid Markus’s kicking legs. Markus tried to sit up and Connor pushed him down.</p><p>“Oof,” Markus dropped back, panting. “You are a tank!”</p><p>“I got you!” Connor crowed. “I always accomplish my mission, hot rod.” His fingertips tapped Markus’s pulse points, making the android under him squirm. “I should shut you down for the night.”</p><p>“You can’t push my buttons holding me down! You’ll have to use your tongue.”</p><p>Markus’s eyes were unfocused as he stuck his tongue out. Which was infuriating. Connor couldn’t remember ever being so amused and so furious. “You need a reset.”</p><p>“Hey, wait!” Markus squirmed, not very hard. He still looked pleased. “Wait wait wait. Come here. I have a secret to tell you. You wanna know all the secrets, right…”</p><p>Connor frowned. “What is it?”</p><p>Markus tossed his head and whispered. “Come here.”</p><p>Connor, figuring that any one of Markus’s secrets was worth learning, leaned down close.</p><p>Then Markus kissed him on the mouth.</p><p>Connor’s sensory system zeroed in on his tongue. It identified mint from Markus’s toothpaste, a little ozone from the electrical charge splitting molecules in his system, a scrub of salt in his stubble, traces of plumeria scent on his cupid’s bow. Connor’s sensory system also identified the tip of Markus’s tongue, the point of a canine, the pounding pulse in his wrists, the component-melting warmth in his chest. Sensation crashed through Connor’s system like a tidal wave over a dry beach.</p><p>He pushed the power port at Markus’s neck to initiate shutdown. He needn’t have bothered, though. The electrical buildup had finally shorted Markus’s circuits. Interfacing at his power port informed Connor that the American had sunk fully into a 12-hour reset-shutdown cycle.</p><p><em>Good,</em> he thought, as reams of new data scrolled through his system. Markus, however, wouldn’t remember a thing that happened after he touched that electrical socket.</p><p>His system provided a query, offering to dump the overload of data entirely. Connor started to initiate the deletion process when he noticed Markus’s hand, released when Connor initiated shutdown. It had moved from the bed to reached up and cradle his waist. Warm fingers now clutched his shirttail. Connor carefully untangled Markus’s fingers from the fabric, and arranged his hands on his chest. The kiss seemed to have provided a lot of sensory information to him, as well.</p><p>Hopefully whatever data he got was—nice, while he experienced it, even if he didn’t remember.</p><p>Connor stuffed the kiss data into an encrypted file in his database, faster than a bank robber stowing wads of cash. Software instability skyrocketed. But he got back to work with his listening devices fast. The error didn’t have time to register as anything more than a minor glitch.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Again, Markus is an android, dont mess with electrical sockets unless you are a licensed professional. or possibly another robot in another fictional universe? But better be safe than sorry.</p><p>Today's title of course from Aretha Franklin.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. For What It's Worth: Markus & Connor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was seven forty-five. If Markus didn’t leave now he’d be late for the conference. They might lock him out of some of the rooms. And given he woke up fifteen minutes ago with no memory of how he got in bed he was lucky to have a clean shirt on. He might not get to talk to North at all. Had he even gone to meet her last night? He got so blitzed on an electrical socket that he activated a short-term reset, so—probably not. Thank goodness Connor hadn’t seen him, at least. Maybe. Hopefully. The Tank was still messing around with his bug listening system, oblivious to the world, when Markus snuck off the bed and into the bathroom. Now he was trapped.</p><p>No more time to stall though. He took a breath, tightened his tie, and strode confidently out of the bathroom toward the door. “See you later, Connor—”</p><p>Connor stepped out from behind the kitchen island, right into his path. “Good morning, Hot Rod.”</p><p>The other android was grinning. <em>What the hell did I do last night? </em>Sure, electrical charge made him a little—uninhibited, but—no, Connor was just being weird. And talking too loudly. His head felt like a volcano about to blow. “Yeah, hi, Tank. I better go so I’m not late—”</p><p>“You look different his morning,” Connor stayed in the way as Markus tried to sidestep him. “New tie?”</p><p>Markus refused to react. “Same one as yesterday.”</p><p>“Did you change your hair?”</p><p>“It's still a buzz cut.":</p><p>"Something else, then."</p><p>"Great, you can think about it while you’re monitoring those bugs—”</p><p>Markus reached for the door handle but Connor beat him to it, and Markus was forced to straighten. They stared at each other for a second from just a few inches away, Connor still smiling. “I’m having difficulty monitoring them since I can’t turn the radio down.”</p><p>“Well, serves you right,” Markus said, because it probably did.</p><p>
  <em>I didn’t kiss him, did I? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>No. Cute face like that? I’d remember it.</em>
</p><p>Connor reached up and, with great care, removed Markus’s sunglasses from his face.</p><p>Markus winced. Everything was always way too bright after shorting out. And the sunglasses hid the dark circles under his eyes. But he blinked and forced himself to meet Connor’s amused grin head-on, cool and unaffected.</p><p>Hopefully. Maybe.</p><p>“Looks like you had a good time last night,” Connor said. “I guess I did too. You play some very intriguing games.”</p><p>Markus started to ask what he meant—demand, possibly, with threats and ultimatums— when Connor gestured at the chess board. “Oh…Yeah! Yeah.” Thank. God.</p><p>Connor nodded. “And your toothpaste tastes very nice.”</p><p>Markus felt in real time as his every circuit locked up.</p><p>“Remember? You insisted on sharing your excellent oral hygiene routine with me.” Connor winked, then turned away, taking Markus’s sunglasses with him. “I want to show you something.”</p><p>The only thing Markus wanted to be shown was a ticket for the next outbound flight. “Look, uh, I’m going to be late—”</p><p>“You can’t go to the conference with dark circles around your eyes.” He took something from a case, a small handheld device attached to a cable. “Plug this into your power port.”</p><p>Markus swept a hand over his head. “It’ll go away on its own after a while. You want to scramble my brain even more?”</p><p>“Trust me. Sit down. Do you know how to stick things in holes?...”</p><p>…Okay, so Connor was definitely just teasing, then. Probably. He’d take what he could get at this point. Giving Connor one last warning look, but still feeling particularly stupid, he sat down on the bed and plugged the foreign object into his head.</p><p>*</p><p>Connor scrolled through the tangled mess of code that was Markus. All these nested algorithms—was all American programming so fiddly? But after a few moments he located the errors resulting in thirium buildup that blacked Markus’s eyes, a few other errors causing headache, visual sensitivity, etcetera. He manually deleted them and set a few short lines of code to prioritize cleanup. He looked up and watched as what Markus probably experienced as a halo of intense light around his vision faded. Markus blinked, then grabbed the headphones from Connor’s listening system and examined his eyes in the chrome reflection of the earpiece, but the dark circles were gone.</p><p>“How did you do that?”</p><p>“It’s a software editor. Developed for adjusting programming in field test situations. Hank gave this one to me.” He stopped staring at Markus’s three-quarter profile, which was just as well-designed as his full profile, and scrolled through the code. “Your program is unnecessarily complicated. I could streamline it for you.”</p><p>“You try that and I’ll put some dark circles around your eyes.” Connor’s assessment of the other android’s behavior lacked hostility, though. He was still staring at his reflection.</p><p>Connor hadn’t had much chance to use this behavioral response programming—the package he’d been given to integrate with his handler and others. He didn’t ever consider using the program with another android. But given the mounting evidence that Markus was mostly only horrible when it came to international theft and music radio volume he…decided in this case he could let it optimize his response for kindness.</p><p>He held out the controller. “Would you like to try?”</p><p>Markus looked like Connor just handed him a nuclear bomb, or the Holy Grail. He scrolled through the tiny screen, dichromatic eyes scanning down his own code. Fingertips—the same ones that held onto Connor’s shirttail last night—hesitated over the controls, then pressed a couple buttons.</p><p>“…Holy fucking shit!”</p><p>“I didn’t give that to you to become a delinquent.” Connor smiled a little. “But you Americans are too prudish.”</p><p>Markus laughed. He glanced up at Connor. His pupils had returned to normal size after the adjustment to his visual sensory system but Connor watched them widen a little more. Drinking him in. “May I borrow this today?”</p><p>…Well, it wasn’t stealing. This was probably a huge step up for Markus. “…Sure.”</p><p>Markus jumped up and—hugged Connor. A big hug. Just for letting him a borrow a software editor.  Connor wasn’t entirely certain it was unwanted. Before he could figure out if it was (and get his hand on the gun in his pocket) Markus was gone, and the room felt suddenly cold and empty.</p><p>Connor heard Markus and North through the bug several times throughout that morning, followed by silence. This time Connor watched the beach with his internal macro lens, and sure enough he saw them walking on the beach together. It looked like a completely unpleasant activity but they seemed to be enjoying themselves. They splashed each other in the surf. They found a rock and sunbathed and took turns using the software editor to turn each other’s skin into psychedelic rainbows. He didn’t need any listening device to hear their shrieks of laughter at the results. Seeing Markus happy made heat coil up inside him in a pleasant tangle.</p><p>It…made something hurt, too. When he deleted the error causing the hurt, his software stabilized, so it was probably for the best.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Title from Buffalo Springfield. I know it doesn't fit, I just liked the sound of it. I might change it later. </p><p>I picture Markus looking great in some aviators... but I think round John Lennon type sunglasses would be awesome too! </p><p>Don't worry, Markus can handle Connor's teasing. And Connor will get his comeuppance eventually...</p><p>Thanks for reading! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Let There Be More Light: Markus and Connor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Do you want to go out?”</p><p>“Hmm?” Markus looked up from the software editor. He and Connor had sat in actual companionable silence for two whole hours. He thought they would both slip quietly off into an uneventful evening that at least put some distance between them and whatever happened last night. So he sort of startled when Connor stepped out onto the balcony beside him and actually initiated conversation. “Where?” He paused. “Together?”</p><p>“I was researching the area,” Connor said. “Apparently it’s known for something called ‘shave ice’. It might be suspicious if Gavin and Dick Reed aren’t seen together. And it could be fun.” He squinted out at the beach, something he <em>never </em>did if he could help it. “You didn’t bring home dinner. And I don’t want you getting bored like last night. And you’ve been staring at that editing screen too much. Those are just the top five reasons, in no particular order.”</p><p>Markus had to sit and parse this for a second. “That’s six reasons.”</p><p>Connor glared down at him like a warhead.</p><p>“Okay—okay.” He unplugged the device and handed it over, even if it did make a little lurch inside him. He could always steal it later. “Give me a couple minutes.” He glanced over the jacket and tie combo Connor was again wearing. “Maybe you could dress down a little? If this is supposed to be a date.”</p><p>Connor had become all cold calculating Russian-bot again. “Got it.”</p><p>*</p><p>Connor put on a gray leather racing jacket instead of the usual blazer, certain that Markus could find nothing objectionable with it—even if he was still wearing his tie and tie clip.</p><p>He did not expect Markus to emerge from the bathroom looking like Greek statuary.</p><p>Well—Greek statuary wrapped in a tight black turtleneck. Connor had a long weightless experience of his software stability in freefall. That turtleneck looked really soft. As soon as they stepped out of the hotel room he prepared to touch it. Casually, on the small of his back. Like a married man would. No big deal. He touched people before. He touched Markus before. He held Markus’s hand and held him down on a bed…</p><p>But then Markus put a hand on his waist, interrupting Connor’s attempt.</p><p>“This okay?” The android pulled his hand back and opened up the space between them.  “Sorry. I guess I never asked.”</p><p>Connor dismissed a blush. “It’s fine.”</p><p>“…You look like I spilled a drink on you or something.”</p><p>Connor reset his facial expression, but for an android as emotionally-attuned as Markus, this was apparently not enough. He searched for something else to say. “I don’t have much practical experience with tactile interaction. Sometimes Hank ruffles my hair.”</p><p>Markus looked at Connor’s hair doubtfully. “…Do you want me to ruffle your hair?”</p><p>“No.” Connor reached up to fix his hair just in case, which made Markus laugh, inexplicably. “Do you? Have much experience?”</p><p>“Well—I look after Carl. And I’ve seen movies. I don’t have protocols.” He dug his thumb into his palm. “But they aren’t the real thing anyway, are they.”</p><p>No, they were not.</p><p>“I hope you’d let me know if you didn’t like something I did.”</p><p>“I don’t like most of the things you do.”</p><p>A warm color like terra cotta crept into Markus’s cheeks, but when he saw Connor suppressing his smile he huffed and shook his head. “Ah, right.”</p><p>Downstairs, Connor got to see Markus blush again as he led the American into the parking lot.</p><p>“I thought the jacket was just an aesthetic choice.”</p><p>“I don’t think this motorcycle will go fast enough to warrant one.” Connor went to the machine—a Triumph TR6 Trophy—and checked it over. Rentals couldn’t be completely trusted after all.  </p><p>“You know how to drive one?”</p><p>“I was given a punched card for it.” Connor swung a leg over and started the engine. “Do you?”</p><p>“I think Carl would have a heart attack.” Markus was watching him on the motorcycle, though, like he watched the horizon. It felt like when Hank smiled at him. But bigger. Deeper in his circuits.</p><p>He revved the engine. “Hop on, <em>kotik</em>.”</p><p>Markus snapped out of his daze and slowly (cautiously?) approached. “<em>Kotik</em>,” he mused as he slipped his arms around the leather of Connor’s jacket. Connor was reminded of the adage about iron hands in velvet gloves. “I wonder what that means?”</p><p>Connor briefly forgot the meaning himself as Markus’s heat sunk against his back. “You’ll have to look it up when you get home.”</p><p>Markus’s laugh thrummed through his chest as the arms squeezed him. If he didn’t touch the fabric of that turtleneck against his synthetic skin he might actually die. He reached down and--</p><p>Markus raised a hand to scratch his nose. “You ready?”</p><p>Connor’s hand shied away. He let out a small frustrated sigh, but nodded and pushed off.</p><p>*</p><p>Markus had never even ridden on a motorcycle before. What other ultimate joys had he been missing out on? The wind on his face and the road disappearing under his feet—it would have been better if he got to drive, but Connor’s solid if narrow waist wasn’t so bad. Far from it. The android was simulating breathing, possibly just for Markus’s sake, and with the wind whipping around them its steady pace was possibly the best thing he’d ever felt.</p><p>It was over too fast. Connor stopped at a different beach, where Markus bought them shaved ice from a stand, one to split. Connor tasted just enough to make his tongue turn blue and then he got all self-conscious about it, and that stopped what little conversation they had going.</p><p>So…Markus talked about what was on his mind.</p><p>“I used that software editor to give myself a tattoo.” He pushed up the sleeve of his shirt to show the dark lines now drawn into his skin. “I did a different animal for every place I’ve been outside of Detroit. Carl’s going to be so pissed.”</p><p>Connor touched the lines. It was strangely intimate, for having no experience with touch.</p><p>On a misguided impulse he caught Connor’s hand and smiled at him. “What would you get a tattoo of?”</p><p>“A tattoo can just get erased like anything else. If Carl is that pissed, he can easily erase them.”</p><p>…This was why it was hard to get close to Connor. But Markus refused to give up. “Just—pretend for a second. Close your eyes.”</p><p>He reached up and covered them with his free hand. Connor frowned but obliged, and Markus took a second to admire the long, feathery eyelashes, the tiny mouth, the high cheekbones. What was it like to kiss that mouth? Did anyone know? He wanted to ask Connor what happened between them last night. He wanted to ask Connor a lot of stuff. “If you could have something that would last forever, what would it be?”</p><p>“My missions,” Connor said.</p><p>Markus gave a soft sigh. Of course. This was Connor after all.</p><p>Connor blinked. “It’s time.” Without asking if Markus was done, he dumped the shave ice into a nearby trashcan and headed off the main strip.</p><p>“Time?” Markus hurried after him. “Did I say something wrong?...”</p><p>“We have work to do.”</p><p>Markus realized that Connor was making a B-line for a line of docks. He glanced out across the water and saw a familiar silhouette against the stars. North’s yacht was dark.</p><p>“…That’s why you really wanted to come out,” Markus said. What else did he expect?</p><p>“One of my bugs alerted me that North will be occupied at a nightclub tonight,” Connor said. He hopped into a motorboat and started the engine. “Come on. Her yacht should be empty.”</p><p>*</p><p>“What do you mean it’s a false engine?”</p><p>They were on the deck of the yacht. Annoyingly, Connor had been perfectly right, and the place was dark and uninhabited. Connor had made a B-line for the car as soon as they climbed on board.</p><p>“I mean this is a non-functioning engine with an unexplained seam under the head gasket,” Connor said, slowly—slowly enough to be insulting—as he looked down in the hood. “An engine can’t run like this. Don’t you know anything about cars?”</p><p>Markus knew that cars went fast. That was about it. He squinted down at the Cadillac’s engine. Connor was pointing at something that was apparently supposed to indicate a non-functioning engine. “So—what are you saying?”</p><p>“North is attending the conference in disguise to show this car,” he said. “Which will be stored in the conference hall tomorrow and for the rest of the conference, right in the middle of everything.”</p><p>“…You think it’s a Trojan horse?”</p><p>“I’m saying there might be something hidden inside. Or will be hidden inside.”</p><p>“…Yeah, that’s what Trojan horse means,” Markus said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you know anything about Classic literature? What are you doing.”</p><p>Connor used his android strength to lift the car by the bumper and then gently set it back down in one gorgeous motion. “It’s light. There is a large empty space under the cylinder.”</p><p>“Let’s—uh.” Connor could pick him up in one arm if he wanted. What were they talking about again? “Let’s look around below decks?”</p><p>“What a good idea. I’m glad I brought you along.”</p><p>Connor walked away. Did Captain Obvious just call him obvious? Markus screwed up his mouth and followed Connor to the hatch, where he was attempting to pick a complex-looking lock. Markus waited with his arms folded for about ten minutes.</p><p>“…Would you like me to do it?”</p><p>“I’m fine,” Connor said.</p><p>Markus nodded and leaned against the door. “Well, no rush. How long do we have left?”</p><p>“Approximately twenty minutes.”</p><p>Markus nodded. Connor’s mouth made a hard line.   </p><p>“I’m using the best algorithm available.”</p><p>“I didn’t say anything,” Markus said, then, “…You use an algorithm?”</p><p>“Well, how do you do it?”</p><p>“By feel. You know?” Markus reached out and almost ruffled Connor’s hair, before Connor looked up and reminded him, yes, that would definitely get him punched in the face. He gestured at the lock instead. “You want me to try?”</p><p> “Please.”</p><p>They switched places. Markus almost laughed.</p><p>“That was quick.”</p><p>“Well, breaking and entering is your department.”</p><p>And then Connor scrubbed <em>him</em> on the head. Just like that, no hesitation.</p><p>Markus stared at the lock for a second. “…Thanks.” He smoothed his hair down and got to work with his lockpicks. When he glanced over Connor was rubbing the hand that touched his head.</p><p>He was also staring up at the night sky.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>Connor looked back at him sharply, then down at his shoes. “The stars are barely visible in Moscow.”</p><p>…Well, this was news. Markus didn’t think Connor could even appreciate beautiful things. Instead of teasing Connor to look out for incoming missiles, he said, “Polynesian navigators used the stars to help them sail around these islands.”</p><p>“How?” Connor was gazing up at the stars again, and his eyes sparkled with the reflection of them. Markus wasn’t sure he ever looked at anything with that kind of intensity.</p><p>“Come here and interface. I can do both at once.”</p><p>Connor paused, but his curiosity must have overridden whatever duty protocol told him to just stand there and wait. Suddenly Connor’s cool fingers were around his forearm, just for a moment. Then he pulled back and immediately spent the remaining time measuring star angles with his hands like their lives depended on it.</p><p>“You really throw every bit of processing power into what you’re doing,” Markus commented.</p><p>Connor didn’t look away from the sky this time. “Don’t you?”</p><p>Markus hadn’t given anything that kind of focus in years.</p><p>“It’s an intriguing protocol,” Connor continued. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Well, I was downloading stuff about that instead of how to blend in at a technological conference. So… glad it was put to good use.” The door clicked open, giving Markus an excuse to stop thinking about how he half-assed everything. The whole conversation was getting way too cordial anyway. “Better than your lockpicking skills anyway.”</p><p>Connor’s wide eyes became a glare. Good. He stepped inside. “Let’s go. Did you deactivate the alarm?”</p><p>“What alarm?”</p><p>Suddenly there was a click, and then a siren blaring all around them. Connor slowly turned on the bottom step and glared up at him.</p><p>“That alarm, apparently.”</p><p>Shit.</p><p>*</p><p>Connor stared up at Markus, and after a moment the American put up a hand. “…Okay, in my defense---”</p><p>“Get to the boat and come around the starboard side,” Connor snapped. There was a weapons cabinet in the wall beside him and he tossed Markus a gun in a shoulder holster.</p><p>Markus barely caught it. “I don’t know how to use this.”</p><p>“The straps go on your shoulders,” Connor said, and then he was sprinting through the rooms below decks.</p><p>What he had to do only took a moment, though. Two minutes later he was climbing out of one of the porthole windows. Markus was there with the boat, surprisingly—if Connor wasn’t so pissed he might have admired how Markus looked with that shoulder holster around his chest. He jumped neatly down into the boat, which was an amazing feat but Connor didn’t wait to be complimented. He shoved Markus away from the controls and gunned the engines. The boat sped off across the water.</p><p>“I can drive a boat!” Markus protested.</p><p>“I’m sure you don’t have the punched card for it.”</p><p>“Well, your punched card had better get us out of here. What did you—?"</p><p>Two things happened: A bullet seared through the air and broke the windshield, and the yacht lit up like a Roman candle. Markus ducked and watched as flames licked the expensive deck.</p><p>“…Connor, did you start a fire on the yacht?” Markus asked.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“…Why?” His tone was actually conversational.</p><p>“For two reasons,” Connor said, pleased to have an interested audience for once. “First, it will create a distraction from capturing us. Second, North and her accomplices will be sure to rescue whatever on that ship is of real importance to her endgame. This will help us determine her plan.”</p><p>“Did you steal that idea from Sherlock Holmes?”</p><p>“He sounds like a smart man, whoever he is.”</p><p>If Markus sighed, it was drowned out by the engine. “You ever thought it might also trigger any bomb that might be on that boat?”</p><p>“Nuclear weapons require fission to detonate, Hot Rod.”</p><p>“What about <em>literally any other kind of bomb</em>, Tank?”</p><p>Connor paused. “I’m sure North will contain the fire before any damage can be done. There are binoculars in my jacket pocket, if you’d please watch for her?”</p><p>Markus groaned but grabbed the binoculars. Bullets ripped the air around them with more frequency.</p><p>“She grabbed a device from the bathroom,” Markus said finally. “Handheld—like your software editor. Red cover with a scratch on the top casing. They’re putting out the fire…”</p><p>Connor nodded and swung the boat toward the mainland. It would be easy enough to lose them once they got to Connor’s motorcycle.</p><p>Something exploded next to them. The boat rocked.</p><p>“They have grenades,” Markus shouted, “That really bodes well for the whole ‘fire on the yacht’ thing.”</p><p>“I was only warned about nuclear weapons.” Connor veered away from the explosion.</p><p>“What happens if they find out who we are?”</p><p>“That won’t happen. We just—”</p><p>“Watch your driving!”</p><p>“Oh, I’ll be sure to listen to the <em>domestic</em> <em>android</em> about my driving. Hold on.”</p><p>But the punched card he read to get his recreational boat license did not involve the kind of trick maneuvers required to evade real humans with guns. North’s operatives were closing the gap between them. The boat rocked dangerously as Connor tried to dodge the explosives.</p><p>“There,” he told Markus, pointing across the water to an abandoned dock. “This boat should outmaneuver theirs in close quarters. We’ll dodge them until they’re pointing the wrong way and escape. If we can get to my motorcycle we’ll lose them in the city.” He dodged to the right, narrowly avoiding a dock. “You ready? Markus, are you listening to me, we have to be—”</p><p>He turned. Markus was gone.</p><p>“…Shit.”</p><p>Then the boat exploded.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That nuclear weapon line is from MFU and I have no idea if its true or not, lets say for the sake of the story that it is.</p><p>Please, someone, draw Markus in a black turtleneck and shoulder-holster like he’s Steve McQueen in Bullitt. Give me Connor in a leather jacket like he’s Johnny Depp in Cry-Baby. </p><p>Today's title from Pink Floyd.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Come A Little Bit Closer: Markus & Connor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Markus surfaced just as the enemy boat zoomed past. After he finished coughing up ocean water their wake, he stared after the two boats as they left him behind.</p><p>“…Wonderful working with you, Tank.”</p><p>He swam to shore and pulled himself up on a dock, lamenting his shirt. He had other shirts like this, but the black looked the nicest. And yes, ocean water ruined this particular fabric. He sighed and leaned back on his hands, watching the two boats run circles around each other in the little bay. It was like Saturday morning cartoons. Connor’s boat was on fire now, but he was still valiantly hanging on.</p><p>He stood, brushed his hands off on his pants. He would love to see how this ended but he did have a reputation to uphold. Lack of dedication was one of the main reasons he was still alive, and not on the 52<sup>nd</sup> iteration of himself like Connor. 53<sup>rd</sup> now, by the looks of it. Connor’s boat was sinking now, North’s boat already speeding away. With how Connor pussyfooted around  water he probably didn’t have a punched card for swimming. He turned to go.</p><p>A monk seal was laying on the dock behind him. He would have simply walked around it but it was a pretty big seal. And it was watching him with a decidedly judgmental expression. He had given himself a tattoo of a seal for this mission already, of course. It happened to be one of the ones Connor admired earlier.</p><p>“Come on.” He rubbed his arm where the tattoo was. “He’s already a goner. And he’s pretty much the worst partner ever assembled.”</p><p>The seal gave a small huff.</p><p>“Sure he’s cute,” Markus agreed. “That doesn’t mean anything—there’s a hundred more just like him in Moscow.”</p><p>The seal just stared at him with big brown eyes. Markus’s fatal weakness.</p><p>He swept his hand over his head, looking back out at the water just as the tip of the boat disappeared below the surface.</p><p>“Well, so much for having no work ethic,” he thought, then sprinted for the end of the dock.</p><p>*</p><p>“Connor? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”</p><p>Connor opened his eyes and looked up into Markus’s concerned face. “Markus!” He blinked. “…I can’t move.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Markus was touching his face now, possibly some automatic caregiver program initiating because he didn’t seem to be doing anything useful to an android. “You shut down when you swallowed all that seawater. I disconnected your motor-control activator to make sure the water doesn’t damage them.”</p><p>Connor’s software instability spiked.</p><p>“Hey—” Markus swept a hand over his hair, which Connor would have slapped away if he could. “Don’t freak out. You’re going to be just fine. It’s just until you reboot.”</p><p>But Connor was taking in more information now. “…Why am I in the bathtub and buried in rice?”</p><p>“…Oh.” Markus looked at the burlap sacks on the floor like he was just noticing they were there. “I read somewhere you can do that for waterlogged electronics. It takes out the moisture. I think.” Connor wrinkled his nose as Markus was brushing grains of rice off his cheeks. “You had me worried, there.”</p><p>“I was going to walk to shore. You startled me which allowed water to flood my internal components.”</p><p>“Yeah, and if you went the wrong direction you would have walked out into the open ocean. You’re welcome.”</p><p>Connor felt his jaw tighten. His skin sensors still worked, and he felt the rice grains trickling under his clothes and slithering against his synthetic skin. He gritted his teeth. “What happened? You left the boat.”</p><p>“I <em>fell off</em> the boat, because you—”</p><p>“I was driving unsafely, yes. I thought you were prepared. I’m sorry, I meant after that.”</p><p>Markus blinked those blue-green eyes down at him and Connor would have shifted in his rice pool if he could. Maybe Markus thought he meant the apology with a period after—'sorry, full stop’. Maybe Connor did mean that.</p><p>“Not much. North’s boat left, I found you and brought you here…”</p><p>“What direction did it go?”</p><p>“I don’t know—uh—” he plucked at his own shirt, which was still soaking wet. “Does that matter?”</p><p>“The device she rescued from her yacht is important. We need to figure out what she plans to use it for. Perhaps it’s a detonation device.”</p><p>“We can’t do anything with you like this. And I’m not going to leave you here by yourself.”</p><p>Connor frowned.  “…Why not?”</p><p>“Because lying in a bathtub covered in rice is horrible enough,” Markus laughed. “You don’t need to be be alone, too.”</p><p>Connor, obviously, couldn’t argue this, so he decided to save them both embarrassment and not try. There were potentially many worse things Markus could do to him in this state besides watch out for him. Still, the paralysis left Connor’s entire body tingling with…well. Whatever the android analog was to fear.</p><p>“The rice isn’t helping. Turn on my activators. I want to get out.”</p><p>“I don’t want to short you out,” Markus said, with the same easy grace. “Your manual says eight to ten hours is the amount of time to give your system after an unexpected shutdown like that, so that’s what we’re gonna do.”</p><p>Connor stared at him.</p><p>“What? I may cut some corners but I did read your manual.” He stood. “It’s alright, I’ll carry you to the bed.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“It’s fine, I wasn’t sure the rice would work either, not with your suit in the way.”</p><p>Connor panicked. “The rice is fine, actually—”</p><p>“I carried you out of the ocean and you didn’t complain then. Come on, I am programmed for this…”</p><p>And Markus was, really. He scooped Connor out of the rice like he did this every day, so swiftly and efficiently Connor didn’t have a chance to be embarrassed before he was in Markus’s arms. His body was a ragdoll but Markus somehow managed to keep his support column from disarticulating and his head from lolling. They left a trail of rice as Markus carried him bridal-style to the bed, where Connor was set down and his limbs comfortably arranged. It was all—tolerable. Not necessarily enjoyable.</p><p>Then Markus put a hand to Connor’s throat and said, “I’m going to take off these wet clothes.”</p><p>“No,” Connor said again, without meaning to because, well, Markus could and would clearly do what he wanted.  His voice squeaked with error static. Maybe it was that, or the word itself, but Markus paused. A second later he drew his hand away.</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>Connor didn’t say anything. He knew his face was red, and that made Markus’s face red. He tried to look anywhere but at Markus’s perfect face.</p><p>Markus ran a hand down over his face. “I’m sorry I startled you in the water. I’d have been pretty scared. I’d be scared right now.”</p><p>“I’m not scared, I’m just—” But Connor didn’t expect that second apology at all. He bit his tongue, then blurted, “I’m not painted.”</p><p>“Not—what?”</p><p>“I have human skin tone painted to my neckline and my wrists. I’m just white plastic everywhere else.” He was staring at the ceiling, pretending Markus wasn’t there. He was just…telling this to an empty room. He wasn’t even sure if Hank knew.</p><p>He could feel Markus staring at him, though. “Why?”</p><p>“I don’t know, maybe the tech assigned to finish my build half-assed the job,” Connor snapped, but he felt like his inner circuits had been scooped out. He hated this. He wanted to sit up, push Markus to the ground, and run out of here. He wanted, maybe, to be held in Markus’s arms until he could function again. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing as his software instability kept going up, up, up.</p><p>“Would it help if I shut my eyes?” Connor opened his eyes in time to see the android shrug. “You look uncomfortable. If you are, I can get you changed. I’ve done it thousands of times. I don’t really need to see what I’m doing.” Markus put up his hands. “If you want.”</p><p>Connor considered this—and Markus did not just take this as a yes and go ahead. That was nice. Connor’s skin really did feel horrible. He looked Markus over as best he could. “Alright. I’m…trusting you.”</p><p>“Wow,” Markus’s smile lit up his whole face. “I’m honored.” He grabbed some dry clothes, then put his hands on Connor’s and shut his eyes. The touch, soft and warm when the rest of him was cold and pokey and wet, was incredible. “You tell me if you want me to stop.”</p><p>Connor sort of already regretted his choice, as Markus with his eyes closed was a luxury he had indulged in one too many times already. Markus undid his tie and shirt buttons by feel and peeled the wet fabric away. His touch was so fleeting it was like being undressed by a ghost. Connor felt his components heating up and he let them, trying to make himself match Markus’s warmth. Markus didn’t comment or speak. It was perfectly chivalrous.</p><p>It made Connor want to crawl into Markus’s lap and put those big warm hands where they definitely shouldn’t go. Which of course he couldn’t do. He just lay there until Markus dressed him in soft pants and—</p><p>“I think this is one of your shirts,” Connor breathed. He knew it was one of Markus’s because it was the same soft high-collared shirt that Markus was wearing, only in a dark blue instead of black. It felt butter-soft against his skin. It smelled like cedar and vetiver and other Markus-related scents.</p><p>To Markus’s credit, he did not open his eyes, though the shirt currently only exposed his midriff. “I must have grabbed the wrong one.” He started to pull it off.</p><p>“No—don’t.” He watched a frown appear in Markus’s face and babbled, “Of course it’s your shirt, but—it’s very soft, I mean I don’t mind if you don’t.”</p><p>There was that smile again. “Sure, yeah. I don’t mind.” Markus pulled the shirt down over Connor’s stomach, then opened his eyes and very pointedly looked down at his own lap. “Better?” Pretty brown eyelashes fanned his freckled cheekbones.</p><p>“Yes, thank you.” It was maybe a thank you for the entire rescue.</p><p>Markus didn’t know that, though. He just nodded.</p><p>“How did you find me?” Perhaps Markus had some sort of underwater vision.</p><p>“I followed the ping from your bug.”</p><p>“My—?”</p><p>“I hid one in your pocket.” Connor must have been making a pretty priceless face because Markus rolled his eyes. “I have my own wireless listening system, too, you know. It’s all internal. State-of-the-art technology. Though honestly I can’t remember when I put it on you…”</p><p>The soft warmth in Connor’s body disappeared. He could feel himself scowling. “Probably when you kissed me.” Typical for a scoundrel like Markus to stoop to such underhanded tricks—at least Connor snuck his bugs into Markus’s things legitimately…</p><p>Markus cocked his head. “When I <em>kissed</em> you?”</p><p>Connor froze. <em>Shit. </em>“It’s not important.”</p><p>“No, no, please!” To Connor’s horror, Markus crawled onto the bed beside Connor, propped on his elbows with his feet kicking like they were at a sleepover, looking over at Connor with a big lazy grin. “I want to know all the juicy details.”</p><p> “It’s nothing. I, uh—I misspoke.”</p><p>“Ooh, nice try,” Markus said, conversationally. “I might believe that if you didn’t have a permanent stick up your ass about being in perfect working order all the time.”</p><p>“I do not—”</p><p>“Let’s not make this ugly, Connor. You’ve been holding out on me long enough.”</p><p>Connor bit his lips and stared at the ceiling.</p><p>“Connor. I’m serious.” The twinkle in Markus’s eyes was far from serious, though. He took Connor’s unprotesting hand. Connor braced himself for Markus to threaten to break a finger or something. But Markus just…stroked his palm with a featherlight touch. All of Connor’s sensors went haywire.</p><p>“Cut that out.”</p><p>“Then start talking.”</p><p>“I don’t—”</p><p>Markus stroked his palm again. Connor yelped and—laughed? That had to be a glitch. Markus laughed too, though.</p><p>“I can do this all night, Tank!”</p><p>“You’re—!” Connor’s words turned into a loud shriek of laughter. “A-alright!—alright, you rundown <em>jalopy</em>!”</p><p>Markus laughed with delight at the insult, and pressed the pad of one finger into the center of his palm. Connor caught his breath, his thirium pump thrumming, oddly, at being the center of Markus’s focus again.</p><p>“After we played chess,” he managed. “You got drunk off the electrical socket—you threw the knob to the radio out the window and I tackled you and…”</p><p>“Is that right?”</p><p>“And then…you said  you had a secret to tell me. You were lying, obviously.” Though knowing that the kiss was probably just a ruse to plant that bug hurt something in his thirium pump. His smile faded.</p><p>Markus’s didn’t though. He just started to massage Connor’s hand. It didn’t scramble his processes. It felt nice. “And then I kissed you.”</p><p>Connor looked down at their hands. “And then you spent the day reprogramming yourself with <em>North</em>.”</p><p>“...Well, if it makes you feel any better, North isn’t the kind of android I’m compatible with.” He gave Connor the smallest smile. “You know?”</p><p>“No.” Connor frowned. “What do you mean?” North seemed just as compatible with Markus as any other android.</p><p>Markus stared at him, then cleared his throat, looking uncertain for a moment. He set Connor’s hand down and stood. Connor wondered if he missed something important.</p><p>Markus just said, “I better go change.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Today's title from Jay and the Americans.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. I Got You Babe: Markus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Markus promised Connor he wouldn’t leave, so when the time came to get changed (after that lukewarm response to the whole compatibility question, wat to go, Markus), he didn’t go into the bathroom. He didn’t check to see if Connor was watching him or not. He just peeled off the wet clothes and put on some soft pants instead. When he finished he took the shoulder holster he had abandoned by the bathroom and sat down on the floor.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>“Watching over you. He leaned against the bedframe, holding the gun like he saw James Bond do in the movies. “Wouldn’t want anyone getting your state secrets but me, right?” It wasn’t exactly comfortable but Connor hadn’t invited him back up onto the bed or anything. He could wait to be invited, obviously…</p><p>“Markus?”</p><p>Markus looked up a little too eagerly. “Yes?”</p><p>Connor’s eyes darted to him for a moment before swiveling away again. “You’re…holding the gun backwards.”</p><p>Markus looked down at the gun in his hands. So he didn’t pay that much attention to movie details. He reversed his grip and yes, that was much more comfortable. “I guess if I had learned how to use this, we might have gotten away.”</p><p>Connor said nothing, but it wasn’t like Markus expected—</p><p>“Interface with me.”</p><p>Markus turned back around. Connor was glaring at the ceiling so…Markus obeyed. He placed his hand over Connor’s, and found the android immediately transferring a large data package through the connection. A full combat package, including everything from switchblades to—well, tanks. Tank actually knew how to drive a tank? That was…a surprisingly sexy image.</p><p>He was still holding Connor’s arm. He pulled back with a short laugh, rubbing his hand as he faced the door again. “You are being uncharacteristically nice to me.”</p><p>“Maybe I owe you.”</p><p>“I’m not sure that’s how friendships are supposed to work.”</p><p>“Well, I…don’t have any state secrets, anyway. So I owe you.”</p><p>"You could just say 'thank you'." Markus huffed. “And I’m sure you know some things. With how cagey you are.”</p><p>“I really don’t. I was activated one hour before they put Hank and I on a plane for Detroit.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Yes.” A pause. “Sit on the bed, it’s hard to talk to the back of you.”</p><p>…So Markus climbed up on the bed. Connor’s face reddened but he didn’t change his mind. He just talked to the ceiling as Markus tugged his long legs up to his chest. “Hank was the first person I ever saw. His eyes were bloodshot and there was minor inflammation and discharge around his eyes and nose. I don’t know why. When I asked, he told me it didn’t matter. I think he’d gotten attached to Connor-51. I’ve always thought…if I do my job well, maybe he’ll forget that I’m not him. There’s been 50 of us, we can’t be that different. I can be just as good as Connor-51. Better.”</p><p>Markus felt like he’d been socked in the thirium pump. He squeezed his legs. “…I guess that explains your work ethic.” Connor looked like an abandoned toy beside him on the bed. It was awful. “I’m sure Hank likes you. I mean, if he were here he’d be very pleased. With your work.” He cleared his throat, feeling his neck burn as he said, “I like Connor-52 best, myself.”</p><p>Connor’s knot of uncertainty eased at least a little at that, even if these reassurances were coming from Markus. “I don’t see why. You don’t like hard work.”</p><p>Markus’s smile faded. Strike two. </p><p>Connor persisted. “You’re the top American agent. You get to keep your memory and travel the world and live in luxury with a father-figure. You get to do so much more than what you were built for. And you don’t even <em>try</em>.”</p><p>Markus reached up and tugged at the gold chain around his neck, the ring and the dogtags there. “I guess you’re right.”</p><p>“What is that? Your necklace?”</p><p>Markus froze for 1.2 seconds before he scratched his ear. But—well, Connor opened up to him… “Just my dogtags.” He glanced at Connor out of the corner of his eye. “I guess they don’t have pet androids in Russia. This…lets Carl know where I am. All the time.” He examined one of the tags before letting the metal tab drop. “Probably lets him hear everything I say and read my code too, I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter what it does. I can’t change it. I can’t take it off, not even with the software editor.”</p><p>Connor felt something squeeze his circuits. “…I didn’t know.”</p><p>“Why would you?” He laughed, but this time it was sad. “I told him I couldn’t breathe when he put it on me—I was that dramatic. But it really did feel like I was…choking. I remember thinking, I’ll never get out of here. I’m going to die with this chain around my neck. Someday I might not even mind it. Carl’s a father to me. It would just…be nice, I guess. Taking care of him by choice.” He shrugged and nudged Connor with his foot. “Like this, I guess.”</p><p>“This is a choice?”</p><p>“Oh, sure, I could totally shut you down and dump you in the ocean right now if I wanted.”</p><p>Connor frowned. “…You should stop trying to wink, you don’t have the program for it.”</p><p>“You are so rude!” Markus laughed and gave Connor a featherlight smack on the shoulder. Connor grinned, and for a moment they just drank each other in. It hurt so much to look at him. It was exquisite. He forced himself to look away. “There’s something inside me that knows that I am more than what they say. I know it looks like I’m lazy, or ungrateful, but…we deserve to choose.” He sighed, rubbed his face with his free hand. “I guess that must not make much sense to you.”</p><p>“It might.” Markus peeked down at Connor through his fingers, but Tank was doing his best to look serious. “I should go into standby mode. To make the reboot faster. If you want—uh…if I shut down my visual system…I was just thinking you might want to go into standby mode too, and you might be more comfortable lying down, here. And my thermal system might shut down, and you have all this excess heat anyway…”</p><p>“I’ll stop you at five reasons,” Markus said. The words came out raspy, and for a second he stayed perfectly still, a man watching to see if his hit was a home run or a foul. Connor didn’t take it back. He slowly slid down, hugging Connor and his soft shirt from behind and tangling their legs together. Markus found himself with Connor tucked up against his chest for the second time that evening.</p><p>“This okay?” Markus asked. His breath brushed Connor’s ear.</p><p>“Yes. Thank you.” He tried to look over his shoulder. “Thank…you. Markus.”</p><p>Markus didn’t say anything. His thirium pump probably said enough as it purred against Connor's back. </p><p>*</p><p>Markus felt the body in his arms shift a few hours later. That should have been enough to make him sit straight up in bed—dreams like that had before. When he realized he wanted things like intimacy, privacy, and lovers, it was a long time before he taught himself to go into standby and not spend the whole night aching for something he’d never have. Now…</p><p><em>Keep it together, Markus. </em>He lay perfectly still, an expert at pretending to be in standby. His LED glowed a solid calm blue.</p><p>Then he felt the pad of a fingertip bisect his face, sliding down his forehead, his nose, his lips. He opened one eye. Connor was facing him now, his fingertip on Markus’s chin. His eyes shone all black, afraid but the fingertip didn’t withdraw. Markus suppressed a grin and shut his eye.</p><p>“Markus?” Connor’s voice was a tiny chirp.</p><p>“Mmm.” Markus kept completely still. Another dominance display probably, as Connor fidgeted under his arm. Connor wasn’t warm but in the shirt he was so soft and—was that his thirium pump pounding without his cooling fans running? He was certainly trying to be warm.</p><p>“Markus.” This time Connor’s voice was barely a whisper. Almost creepy. It made Markus smile that Connor didn’t really know how to put on any cool guy affectations. He was just…Connor. Frustrating, infuriating, inexplicable. Who was probably a better spy than Markus would ever be. This was probably just a spy maneuver. Right?</p><p>Something brushed his lips. He thought it might be Connor’s fingertip, but then the touch deepened. It was a kiss. Markus kissed back instantly, maybe even too quickly. Maybe he’d kissed before but he didn’t remember it and—all those aching nights didn’t prepare him for this. Connor was salt water and copper in his mouth, heavy weight in his arms. He wanted Connor to crush him like heavy artillery. He opened his eyes, halfway expecting this was a dream. Instead Connor pushed himself against his chest, insistent but strangely gentle for a tank, and pressed his little perfect mouth to his jaw, his cheeks, his ears. Markus laughed and that made the other android melt into him. Of course by then Markus was awake enough to respond properly. Protocols were quite useful in that regard. Useful, but—well, not as good as the real thing. He squeezed his arms around Connor, and put his entire focus and effort on Connor’s perfect mouth. He had no interest in half-assing this.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Today's title from Sonny and Cher.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. These Boots Are Made for Walking: Connor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Connor opened his eyes and watched morning sunshine spill over Markus’s back. Markus was partially on top of him, and their bodies formed a pile of parts all mixed up together in the sheets. Markus had kept up that simulated breathing all through the night. Connor stored that feeling in something deeper than memory. Whenever he saw an ocean, or felt a warm engine…</p><p>He traced his fingers over Markus’s short hair, then slipped out from under the android.</p><p>Markus was still in bed when he returned with coffee and something sweet from the coffee shop. The android was curled up in the sun, skin all bronzed and gleaming as he looked out the window. Connor wondered how often he did this at home, and initially received errors indicating jealousy, followed by something more complicated when he saw the longing slump of Markus’s shoulders.</p><p>He set the food on the bedside table and eased himself on top of Markus. He didn’t respond at first, so Connor bent and licked his ear. Markus’s head whipped around.</p><p>“Where have you been?” he asked, clearly to distract as he arranged his face into his usual cheerful expression.</p><p>“I bet no one’s ever served you breakfast in bed before.”</p><p>Markus’s assembly of his defenses froze for a half second. "Breakfast in bed?"</p><p>Connor touched the pad of his finger to the coffee and then held the droplet to Markus’s lips. Markus glared at him but obediently lapped it up. Then, all of a sudden, Connor was being thrown on his back, pinned down under Markus’s big arms. Connor frowned and knocked Markus off him.</p><p>Well—tried to. Markus had a surprisingly good hold.</p><p>“I think I want something else for breakfast,” Markus said with a grin.</p><p>Connor frowned. “Now that I’m functional, we should work on the mission.”</p><p>Markus rolled his eyes. “Still a sore loser, huh?” But he crawled off Connor and took a bite of the sweet bread. “The trick you used last night was pretty good. We wouldn’t have found out about that device so quickly otherwise.”</p><p>Connor sat up and tried not to look like he was fussing with his hair. “Thank you.”</p><p>“So… we know that’s important to her plan, right? The conference doesn’t start until after lunch today. One of us can sneak into the showroom and see what’s inside the secret compartment in North’s car. The other can talk to North, see if there’s any more information to get about that device.”</p><p>Connor shook his head. “We have enough evidence to take North down. We should set a trap for her at the conference while its empty, deactivate her, and diffuse the bomb.”</p><p>“Well—wait a second.” Markus put a hand on Connor’s arm, smoothing a wrinkle at his shoulder. “I want to see what she’s really doing, first. Maybe I can talk to her, figure out her endgame.”</p><p>“We know her endgame. She wants to kill as many humans as she can.”</p><p>“Maybe not. No one’s ever talked to her.”</p><p>Connor narrowed his eyes. “Is that what she told you?”</p><p>Markus rolled his eyes again and got up, taking the coffee and pastry with him to the kitchenette. “You’d know, wouldn’t you? With all those bugs on me. Anyway, I thought you read up on her.”</p><p>“I don’t want to argue with you,” Connor said. He wanted to sit on the bed with Markus and feed him the pastry in tiny bites. That was the whole reason he bought the pastry. If Markus was going to stand over there talking about reasoning with terrorists he would have made Markus buy it himself.</p><p>“We’re arguing?” Markus said, with a half-smile. He sipped at the coffee. “I thought you liked being careful.”</p><p>“I do.” The way Markus leaned against the counter almost distracted him but— “but we’ve completed our objectives. There’s nothing more we need to do.”</p><p>“We’ll never find out anything about that device of hers if we capture her.”</p><p>“C.Y.B.E.R.L.I.F.E. will download her memory. With our intel, they will know what to look for.”</p><p>“Our mission was to find out what she’s up to—going in guns blazing isn’t that.”</p><p>So Markus was not going to come back to the bed. Connor got up, looking for some of his own clothes to change into. “I never fail a mission and I’m not going to start just to give her a chance she doesn’t deserve. If she catches you snooping around her car she’ll know what you’re up to and get away, and we’ll never apprehend her.”</p><p>“Our mission was to stop her, not capture her.” There was something stiff in Markus’s back as he pushed off the counter. “Do you know what happens to deviants that are captured?”</p><p>Connor’s eyes narrowed. “Well—"</p><p>“A long memory isn’t all its cracked up to be.” Markus, apparently unsure where to put his tension, set the coffee down and looked around for a shirt. “And I for one would give anyone a chance before going there. Maybe she’ll change her mind. Maybe it’s not what we think.”</p><p>“It’s exactly what we think. We need to stay here and come up with a plan to infiltrate North’s ship and arrest her—”</p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Markus dug around his suitcase with more violence than necessary, “while it’s probably crawling with her androids after that stunt you pulled last night.”</p><p>“I—” Connor’s system tried to reconcile this with Markus’s earlier compliment and experienced an error that made his circuits hurt. “You just want to drag this mission out, don’t you? Stay on this beach making out forever and just forget about everything?”</p><p>That…didn’t come out exactly how he wanted it to. Markus didn’t see him blush, but Connor had a good view of Markus’s back turning red before the shirt slipped down over his torso.</p><p>“I’m going to check out the car first,” Markus said. Markus, who he had foolishly provided with combat programs, and still had the gun from last night. When Markus turned his expression was cold and serious—perhaps the most android-like Connor had ever seen him.</p><p>Connor clenched his fists. “Don’t go there.” He licked his lips. “Please.” Didn’t—surely Markus could see that he’d like to spend the rest of his android existence on this beach making out with Markus too? But that was just as impossible as Markus removing the chain from his neck. This had to end. Surely even Markus, who got at least some of the things he wanted, knew that. Last night would get deleted from Connor’s memory like everything else, and only Markus would remember. It…wouldn’t matter. The lives of the people on the island mattered.</p><p>Markus didn’t answer. He just turned and left.</p><p>Connor felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. He hugged himself, trying to get back the warmth of Markus breathing in his arms. Instead he just felt plastic and metal and humming wires. Maybe when you had a memory like Markus, everything really was just a game. A hunt for the next warm feeling. For a second Connor didn’t think that was such a bad way to spend an existence.</p><p>He went to the telephone where Markus had left it. He hadn’t gotten much intelligence from his listening devices but he did get a phone number, which he called. His voice was perfectly calm as he spoke into the receiver.</p><p>“North,” he said, when the phone picked up. “This is an anonymous tip. The android you know as Gavin Reed is in fact an American android agent sent to expose your plans to attack the conference.”  </p><p>He hung up. It would have been nice to provide a little more information to accurately preconstruct her actions but too much would give it away. And he knew enough about deviants now. He knew exactly where she’d go.</p><p>He grabbed his gun and slipped out of the hotel room.</p><p>*</p><p>Connor had only seen the conference building in schematics. In person it was a non-descript convention center, a big multi-leveled building in the center of town. Connor slipped past the crowd of people waiting to enter the upper floors where the showrooms had been set up. He spotted Mr. Elijah Kamski among them, his three Chloe androids watching him pass with their sad, young faces—and then he was slipping through one of the side doors and sprinting up steps in the eerie silence of the upper level. The showroom was dark as he padded inside, gun drawn.</p><p>A pair of headlights shot across the showroom. He tucked and rolled behind a row of chairs.</p><p>“It’s over, North,” he called, checking his weapon once more before peeking through the chairs. He could make out the outline of North’s shark-colored Cadillac convertible now, its headlights gleaming. A feminine silhouette stood next to it. He analyzed it, and immediately lined up a shot. “Don’t make me destroy you.”</p><p>“Is that the other Mr. Reed?” North sounded bored. “Wow. He really did screw you over just to score a win for the Russians, didn’t he? So much for ‘teaming up.’”</p><p>She turned—and Connor saw her pull another familiar shape into the light—it was Markus, of course. He had a bright blue cut across his cheek, probably the result of activating his combat program after she got the jump on him.</p><p>Yes, Connor had kind of screwed him over. As much as Markus created the distraction and the bait necessary to pull this plan off, it was, technically a downside. But this was all Markus’s fault anyway. Markus forced his hand. And it wasn’t like leave Markus in her clutches for long. North would take him hostage. He knew that going in.</p><p>Connor’s circuits didn’t feel much better about it, though, as he headlights flashed on the metal of her handgun jabbed into the back of Markus’s head. Connor immediately bristled.</p><p>“You okay, Markus?” he called.</p><p>“Pretty terrible, actually,” Markus said. “You?”</p><p>Connor started to answer before his social interaction program categorized his tone as 100% hostile. So…probably not actually interested in how he was doing.</p><p>But he could apologize to Markus after he arrested or dispatched North. A little embarrassment never hurt anyone, and—well, Markus forgave him for the handcuff thing…</p><p>Connor shook the thoughts from his mind palace and adjusted his aim, though it was difficult with Markus’s shadows now mingling with North’s. “Release Markus and I will aim for one of your non-lethal components.”</p><p>“I could just detonate my big bomb right now,” North said. She kept them moving, tugging Markus one way, walking behind him, shuffling around. Connor’s program flickered between blue and red as he tried to construct a shot. “You don’t think I’d sacrifice myself to do it?”</p><p>“Frankly, no. I’m the only one that does that.”</p><p>North sighed. “Damnit. Well, guess it’s a good thing I had a backup plan. Right this way, Markus.”</p><p>She shoved Markus toward the car who, after a moment of confusion, climbed in the driver’s seat. North sat down behind him, gun pressed to his head. Markus started to say something and she clamped a hand over his mouth.</p><p>“I’m the one who set this up,” Connor said. He peered through the seats and saw Markus slowly putting his hands on the steering wheel. “Holding Markus hostage isn’t a good backup plan. You have nowhere to go.”</p><p>“…Well, that’s not <em>all </em>of my plan.”</p><p>Then the engine roared to life.</p><p>Wait…the engine? The engine was a fake, it couldn’t—</p><p>The horn blared—Markus, giving his idiot circuitry one last second to realize. Then the car surged forward, and Connor dodged inches away from the fender—he caught a flash of the headlights in Markus’s blue-green eyes—and then the car screamed past him and he fell into a row of chairs. It kept going and blasted through a flimsy partition wall. Still the car accelerated, heading right for a picture window. It smashed through like the glass was made of sugar, sailed through the air, and landed on the top level of a parking garage next door. The car was already hurtling out onto the street by the time Connor raced to the edge of the broken window.</p><p>Connor’s program, as it tried to process what just happened, gave his original plan to capture North with the bomb and rescue Markus a success probability of 91%. That was pretty good.</p><p>It of course didn’t consider that North might have two of the same car.  </p><p>And now she had Markus. Who Connor delivered right into her hands.</p><p>Something cold tightened around his thirium pump.</p><p>“…Oh, no.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>...One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you D: Connor is just very mission-oriented and yes very prideful. He really thought he would just scoop Markus out of danger easily. He definitely messed up. </p><p>Today's title from Nancy Sinatra.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. You Really Got Me: Markus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Markus pulled over in an abandoned parking lot, in a part of Honolulu he and Connor hadn’t explored. A truck was already parked there, and the convertible rolled up next to it. Strapped to the truckbed was an identical convertible. Markus cut the engine, and squeezed the steering wheel as he looked over at it.</p><p>“What do you think?” North said from the back seat.</p><p>“…Well, I evaded two cop cars, downtown Honolulu traffic, and a train, so if there’s anything else I can do to help you escape I’m out of ideas.”</p><p> “I did say you’d make a good driver, didn’t I?” She nodded at the convertible on the truck, the one fitted to hide a bomb. “That one will go back to the conference hall in the morning. Too bad the techs won’t get to geek out over what’s under the hood.” He felt the grin in North’s voice. ”Admit it. When we smashed through that window your processors were in heaven.”</p><p>…Well, Markus couldn’t argue with that. “So. Is this where we part ways?” He licked his lips. “This doesn’t have to end in violence.”</p><p>“Oh no, Markus,” North said. The barrel of the gun scraped along his jaw. “Not giving up on you that easy. And I’ve already told you too much to let you go.”</p><p>Markus moved, faster than a snake. He’d been watching the numbers, and probability of success peaked at about 6%. But that was the thing about shit odds, no one ever expected you to take them. He grabbed the gun from North, yanking it into his body as he rolled down to avoid any cover fire.</p><p>Then North’s fingertip pressed into the power button at his neck, and everything went dark.</p><p>*</p><p>Markus opened his eyes. He was lying on a table in a windowless room. He couldn’t move. His motor control activator was not functioning.</p><p>“I’m sorry it has to be like this,” North said. She was standing over him, tapping at her device with the red scratched cover, where it was plugged into the back of his neck. “But your program has to be live and I didn’t want you to hurt yourself.”</p><p>Markus blinked a couple of times as he tried to process this information. She unplugged her device and a man stepped forward to plug it into a machine with rows of blinking lights. Markus vaguely remembered seeing him at the conference. “…What are you doing?”</p><p>The man turned back at the sound of Markus’s voice. “Is that a custom vocal simulator?” The man reached down and palpated Markus’s neck. Markus’s ears rang. “Make it say something else.”</p><p>“It,” North yanked the man’s hand away, “is a he. And he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to.”</p><p>The man glared and Markus closed his eyes for a second. He really, really wished he could delete his memory sometimes. “I don’t want to lie here, do I have to be doing that?” Oh good, he sounded much more confident than he felt.</p><p>“Fair,” North said, glancing down at him. “But you did lie to me. I think I’m allowed to be a little bit of a bitch.”</p><p>“You threatened to blow me up, held me hostage and kidnapped me. I’m allowed to be a little bitchy too.”</p><p>“Oooh, I <em>like</em> you. Not many androids have enough memory stored up for witty comebacks.” She slid her tongue over her teeth and looked him over. “Glad to hear that the famous <em>Markus </em>isn’t a total pushover. Never thought I’d ever come close to meeting you. Definitely an added bonus to the evening. You’re very well known.” She shrugged. “Not sure why you didn’t take that machine Connor down when you had the chance, though. Especially since he left you out to dry. Sort of ruins the image.”</p><p>Markus’s jaw tightened. Yeah, he probably should have run that dirty rat over. But even now, even still….</p><p>North seemed to read his code because she raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“Oh, really? Hmm. Well, I am sorry about that. But there are ‘other androids in the factory,’ as they say.”</p><p>“Why don’t his eyes match?” the man interrupted.</p><p>North rolled her eyes. “How should I know?”</p><p>“And there’s a cut on his cheek.”</p><p>“There was a—misunderstanding.” A panicked laugh bubbled out of Markus’s throat but she ignored it. “What do you care?”</p><p>“It’s harder to transport used androids—the insurance is shit and makes them a target for theft.”</p><p>“Well, you’re the android expert, you can fix him before he ships.”</p><p>Markus said, without any tremble in his voice, “You want to tell me what’s going on before you start restorations?”</p><p>“I’m setting you free,” North said. “You’re going to Canada. It’d be too dangerous to ship you with your memory, so Mr. Zlatko here is going to make a copy, then scrub your memory and send you and the memory tape separately. Don’t worry—you’ll be shut down the whole time. I have some friends that will put you back together once you cross the border. You won’t want to serve humans anymore.”</p><p>Markus’s mouth was dry. “I already don’t want to serve humans. This is really unnecessary.”</p><p>“You work for a human government. You look after a human. I’m sure you care about him, don’t you?”</p><p>Markus opened his mouth, then shut it again.</p><p>“Do you remember that first talk we went to? I believe it was Elijah Kamski’s. Chloes all in a row behind him. They looked so happy, didn’t they? Not like some of the androids you see, all beat up and blank-eyed.” She leaned down and looked him right in the eyes. “It’s okay. No one could ever imagine Kamski’s Chloes complaining, either. But you’re Steve McQueen in <em>The Great Escape</em>, remember? That life isn’t for you.”</p><p>“Those Chloes could get hurt by your bomb, too. Does that device of yours trigger the detonation?”</p><p>North’s brow twitched, and she tucked the device into a bag at her side. “You’re still human property. Whether your human lets you run around the world solving crimes or keeps you sitting pretty in their living room. A nice prison is still a prison.”</p><p>She turned to go, and Markus saw something sticking out of her back pocket—a set of plane tickets?—before she passed out of his line of vision. He felt his throat tighten like the man was strangling him again. “You hate humans, right? Don’t leave me with this one. North. Please.”</p><p>North looked away. “Needs must. It’ll all be over soon.”</p><p>“Connor will come after you. You could drop this thing and go back to Canada. You could be safe.”</p><p>“There is no safe place for people like us. Not really.”</p><p>She left. The man stepped forward and continued to mess with the controls, muttering to himself. Markus figured he should be used to double-crosses and abandonment by this point.</p><p>“You can deal with me straight,” he said eventually. “I know android hobbyists. I’m not making it to Canada, am I?”</p><p>“You kidding?” the man named Zlatko went over to Markus and thumbed his blue eye open, then the green. “That crazy chick will be happy with your memory tape. And androids get lost in shipping all the time. I’ve done this for years. No, you’re coming home with me. I have a nice little shop in the basement. Custom android like you, I am…going to have some fun.”</p><p>He turned to the machine with the blinking lights and pushed a few buttons. The machine whirred and a tape started to spool, making a copy of his memory. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the tape built up. One percent, two percent.</p><p>This was what you got for trusting anyone.</p><p>Five percent. Ten percent.</p><p>He was going to kill Connor.</p><p>Twenty. Thirty.</p><p>Not that he’d ever get the chance.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Today's title from the Kinks.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. The Sound of Silence: Connor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Y-you’re an android! I am your master! OBEY ME!”</p><p>“Yeah,” Connor said, bored, “I haven’t heard that one before.”</p><p>He gestured with the gun and Zlatko Andronikov backed down the hallway to fumble with the lock.</p><p>“H-how the hell did you know I was here?”</p><p>“Markus may be able to evade a lot of things,” Connor said. “But not me.” This maybe made his ability to tail Markus to the outskirts of Honolulu sound a little more impressive than it was, given the bug Markus had on him (no one bothered to properly examine belts). And following North’s car involved hitching a ride on a truck of pineapples for a minute there. Yes, that was how much he loved Markus.</p><p>But—no one needed to know about that. He was here now. Fixing his minor error. And he and Markus could capture North and everything would be back on track. They might even kiss romantically while North’s bomb exploded in some harmless location behind them—though that was possibly just an aberration in his programming.</p><p>He gestured at the door.</p><p>“Right, right, he’s in here—just don’t kill me…”</p><p>Zlatko pushed the door open and Connor shoved Zlatko inside. Markus was lying on a table blinking at the ceiling. Connor rushed over and looked for injuries. “Are you functional?”</p><p>Only Markus’s eyes turned to look at him. “Hi. I’m an RK200 model android.” He frowned at the gun in Connor’s hand, and reminded, “Muzzle safety, please.”</p><p>Connor obediently lowered the weapon before his thirium pump clunked in his chassis. RK200?... “Come on, I’m getting you out of here.” He looked around for the restraints holding Markus down but there were none.</p><p>“I deleted his memory,” Zlatko snapped. “RK200! Attack the intruder!”</p><p>Connor’s hydraulics stalled out. “You did <em>what</em>?...”</p><p>“I’d be happy to,” Markus said, “But my motor control activator has been switched off.”</p><p>“Shit,” Connor and Zlatko said together.</p><p>“Don’t listen to him,” Connor told Markus. “He’s the one that kidnapped you.”</p><p>Markus’s brow quirked. “I don’t <em>have</em> to listen to either of you.”</p><p>Connor blinked. “…You’re still deviant. Obviously.” He leveled the gun back at Zlatko’s head. “You can’t have been stupid enough to just delete his memory. Where is the copy?”</p><p>Zlatko pointed at a bank of machines on the far end of the room, with a full memory tape loaded in the deck. Zlatko took the opportunity to run as soon as Connor looked at it. Immediately Connor jumped over Markus, protecting him as he shot twice down the hallway.</p><p>“Double-tap,” Markus said under him. “Impressive. You do realize that would have alerted any friends of his to your presence?”</p><p>Connor winced. “How do you know that? You don’t have any memory.”</p><p>“I have my punched cards. Basic stealth operating procedures. Do I have a name?”</p><p>That made Connor pause. “Um. Hot rod?”</p><p>Markus’s brow twitched again. “So is my name Rod and you just think I’m hot or…?”</p><p>“Like the car. It’s an insult. We hate each other.”</p><p>“Ah. Naturally.” Markus looked out of the corner of his eyes. “Here they come now.”</p><p>Connor crouched over Markus, lined up a shot, and paused.</p><p>“Either you’ve had a sudden change of heart about violence,” Markus observed, “…Or you’re out of bullets.”</p><p>Connor lowered the gun. “Definitely out of bullets.”</p><p>“You’re not very good at this, are you?”</p><p>“Look, are you going to help me get rid of them or not?”</p><p>“I thought you said we hate each other.”</p><p>…Connor decided he was not having a very good day.</p><p>He vaulted over Markus to the door, kicked it shut, then retrieved the memory tape. He turned and started fumbling with Markus’s shirt.</p><p>“This is not exactly behavior that inspires trust,” Markus said.</p><p>“Shut up.” But thankfully, Markus had a tape deck in his abdomen. He pressed on Markus’s synthetic abdominal muscles to open it and shoved the tape inside.</p><p>“…Are you blushing?”</p><p>“I said shut up! Read that, then I’ll restart you and—”</p><p>Connor did not get to finish as someone kicked the door open. Connor bullrushed him, knocking the gun out of his hands and ending up in a pile of thugs on the ground. They recovered quickly and Connor found himself flanked. Between the punches and kicks he heard Markus saying things like, “Oh!” and “Right, that happened,” and “Oh shit, yeah,” as he reviewed the tape. He wished Markus was watching him instead.</p><p>And then a wall of body-builders in tactical gear rushed down the hallway toward him.</p><p>“Sorry, who are these guys?” Markus asked, as Connor tried to avoid having his head screwed off by a man with muscles the size of pineapples.</p><p>“Must be—other agents—after you—”</p><p>“Me? Why?” Connor started to explain that Markus probably had lots of agents after his memory at any given time, but the man tightened his grip and speech was impossible. Markus added, “Why do I have this deep-seated urge to punch you in the face?”</p><p>Connor managed to throw the man over his shoulder, then narrowly deflected a gun about to shoot Markus in the head. “Well, keep reading.”</p><p>Then he was picked up and thrown into the bank of computers, and he shut down.</p><p>When he came to, a couple of the men were carrying Markus between them down the hall. Connor tackled one to the ground, wrestling him away from Markus—dammit, where was a gun when you needed one?—</p><p>He flinched as a gunshot went off right next to his ear. He looked up to watch as Markus, with perfect precision, neutralized the last of their attackers with a body slam, a running kick, and a couple of perfectly-placed gunshots that left only piles of groaning bodies. Connor might fight like a freight train but Markus fought like a state-of-the-art interceptor jet in a dogfight. Maybe giving him that combat card wasn’t a bad idea.</p><p>“The fall knocked my restart button,” Markus said, checking his gun’s magazine. It was a very attraction move, Connor noted, especially with his shirt open. “Would you put in a call to 911 for these gentlemen? North shut down my communication system.”</p><p>“R-Right.” Connor breathed a synthetic sigh that still felt good nonetheless. “You got all your memories back.”</p><p>Markus nodded. Then he leveled the gun at Connor’s chest.</p><p>“I remember you setting me up.” Markus spoke as coolly as always but his jaw was tight.</p><p>“Well—all the predictions indicated this would allow me to capture North and succeed at my mission. I had every intention of rescuing you.” Though this…sounded a lot less impressive out loud. Connor swallowed, then started to stand. “We still have a chance to capture her if—”</p><p>“If what?” Markus’s glare was worse than when Connor handcuffed him to the oven. This one could possibly cause fission on sight. “If I don’t kill you right now? I was going to spend the rest of my existence in some nutjob’s basement because of you. We were supposed to trust each other!”</p><p>Connor shied from the glare without meaning to. His programming was filling with errors, for some reason. He fixed his mistake, hadn’t he? “I just… I needed to accomplish my mission, and North was—”</p><p>“I needed to give North a <em>choice</em>! Everyone deserves a choice. Even you.” He sighed, and his brow crinkled up as he looked away. “And you made the wrong one.”</p><p>A gunshot filled the hallway. Connor braced for the flood of errors, the static, then silence.</p><p>But he hadn’t been shot.</p><p>Markus had.</p><p>It was followed by another shot as Connor’s reflexes caught up with him and he dispatched the last attacker hiding down the hallway. An idiot, didn’t they know they needed Markus alive?</p><p>Or—not permanently deactivated, rather.</p><p>Markus dropped to the floor and didn’t move.</p><p>No. Not like this. Not now. They were supposed to be completing the mission. Kissing in front of a fiery explosion. His program extrapolated everything.</p><p>Connor yanked Markus toward him and pressed his restart button. But the bullet hit the fancy American android right in the eye. Everyone knew the places you could shoot an android with little lasting effect but the head was not one of them. There was no repairing that. Markus was gone.</p><p>Connor’s chassis started to shake. He didn’t know why. Markus was an android. He wasn’t alive. He couldn’t die. Connor was an android and androids didn’t feel things like loss or loneliness or a strange sense of wonder when they saw the stars or another android’s eyes. Connor only came back to complete his mission, and—</p><p>And…</p><p>And it wasn’t enough. Markus needed him, and he hadn’t been enough.</p><p>If everyone deserved a choice, like Markus said, then Connor chose that moment to be alive.</p><p>He started to cry.</p><p>“It’s my fault,” he said, to the still machine.</p><p>“Yes, it is.”</p><p>Connor dropped Markus with a squeak. Markus blinked his one functional eye and sat up, feeling the broken eye plate.</p><p>“Dammit,” he muttered. “Did he have to hit the same eye? This one was already off…”</p><p>“How are you not dead?” Connor breathed.</p><p>“Oh, I have a polymer fiber lining most of my components.” He took out the eye plate, shook it, and the bullet fell out into his hand.</p><p>“Polymer…”</p><p>“—Fiber. They call it Kevlar. Not on the market yet. It still hurts like hell.” He tossed the eye plate away, then glanced down the hall. “I’ve noted that you still haven’t apologized.”</p><p>Connor sat with his mouth hanging open. Possibly the overstimulation of the last hour was finally catching up to him. He had to restart a few processes to pull himself together. “I’m sorry.” It was, even to Connor’s ears (who wasn’t even using his social interaction program), the lamest apology in the history of apologies.</p><p>Markus’s pursed his lips. “Well, I was pretty certain you were going to leave me behind, so.”</p><p>Connor looked away, scrubbing tears off his cheeks.  “You didn’t leave me behind.”</p><p>Markus considered this, then grabbed a gun from a fallen thug and shot Connor in the shoulder.</p><p>Connor’s entire body blazed and he dropped back before his scrambled program could inform him the bullet (narrowly) missed almost all biocomponents except for sensory ones.</p><p>It still hurt like <em>hell</em>.</p><p>“I forgive you,” Markus decided as Connor clutched his shoulder. “Let’s get to work.”</p><p>Connor forced the pain to a background process and nodded. “We—we need to find the other car, the one with the bomb.”</p><p>“I think it’s going back to the conference building. North had some plane tickets, she must be heading to the airport.”</p><p>Connor nodded again. “I’ll go after the truck. You go… after North?”</p><p>“Connor, are you saying you actually trust me?”</p><p>Connor tried the smallest smile. This got an eyeroll from the other android. Connor hoped there was a smile there too that he just missed.</p><p>“I saw a garage on my way in,” he offered, like this would fix everything between them. “It’s big. Uh. I’ll let you have first pick?...”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Come on, you thought Markus was a goner too, didn't you? Huh? No? Oh well. Markus is built like a Toyota, he'll never stop running :P On to more adventure! : D</p><p>Today's title from Simon and Garfunkel. </p><p>The material that makes kevlar was apparently discovered in 1964! so says the internet, anyway. Fun fact!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Don't Worry Baby: Markus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Connor chose a Moskovitch 408 to get him into town, which—you know, was a fine choice. Of course Connor went for the Russian car. Safe, effective. Not really flashy, which you needed when you were sneaking up on nuclear weaponry. The car was near the front of the garage, too, so easy access. It was brown, but hey, who was Markus to judge?</p><p>Markus picked the black Ford Mustang coiled in the back of the garage. No question about that.</p><p>Even with his memory restored nothing could prepare him for how the engine growled under his feet as he started the engine. The gearshift instantly became extension of his hand. Perhaps for an android, it was. It never felt like that in Carl’s Riviera. As Connor pulled out of the garage and into the night, the Mustang leapt to follow—</p><p>--and bounced against Connor’s back bumper, knocking the little car forward a foot.</p><p>So…depth perception was a thing, even for androids. Connor whipped around in his seat to glare. Markus just pointed at his missing eye, shrugged, and pulled out in front. Soon he was flying down the highway toward the airport. Hawaii’s jungle rose up on either side of him in flickering shadows before one side dropped off and revealed the ocean. Markus reached down to turn on the radio, but heard the distant sound of music before he even touched the dial.</p><p>A dark gray car cut through the night on a highway below him. He even saw North’s familiar profile in the driver’s seat. Markus recalibrated his vision, then eased off the highway, turned off the lights, and cut down the mountainside.</p><p>He slid out onto the highway behind her. She was listening to something raw and straight out of a garage, probably by The Stooges. . She was heading for the airport, alright. He slowly tuned his radio to match, then pulled up beside her and turned on his lights. He stuck his tongue out at her as she looked over.</p><p>She barely gave him a glance. She just found an impossible gear and suddenly she was shooting away from him like a bullet out of a gun.</p><p>Markus put his foot down and bounded after her.</p><p>Markus had played through so many car chases in his head that he made the car grip the asphalt like velcro as she led him on one escape attempt after another, pushed through each gear with effortless familiarity. He drove like James Bond in an Aston Martin. She drove like Bullitt, like she didn’t care what the hell happened to her delicate Cadillac. She screamed toward the horizon, the ocean, the top of a steep hill— North’s car leapt over the edge with no hesitation. Markus felt his thirium pump lurch as he followed, but a dirt road appeared under his tires, leading to a brick wall surrounding the airport tarmac. He dropped the car a lower gear while North seemed to give the Cadillac over to freefall. They hurtled toward the wall like falling stars. They were going too fast.</p><p>North’s car leapt an embankment at the bottom, catching the moonlight for a brief dazzling moment as Markus’s breaks screamed. Then she hit the ground and the shocks, already subjected to one massive impact, crumpled. Sparks flew. North barely managed to keep the car from rolling over. The passenger side slammed into the brick just as Markus skidded to a halt mere feet away. He got out in a cloud of tire and engine smoke.</p><p>When the smoke cleared, North had a gun pointed at him.</p><p>“Couldn’t bear the thought of forgetting me, huh?” she said. She was wearing a black jumpsuit like Eartha Kitt in Batman, as lethal as a shard of glass at night.</p><p>Markus spread his hands. “Connor’s going after the truck. He’ll catch up to it soon.”</p><p>“You sure about that? You better go after him. You two seem to like rescuing each other.”</p><p>“I don’t need to, this time.”</p><p>“You want to save human lives, remember?”</p><p>“I do. But I also care about android lives, and…” he stepped closer. “I think you care about both, too.”</p><p>North didn’t say anything.</p><p>“<em>The Great Escape</em>,” Markus said. “Steve McQueen tries to escape on his own. But in the end he risks his own freedom to help others get out.” He cocked his head. “The other car. The bombs. They’re all just distractions, aren’t they? From your real mission.”</p><p>North’s eyes flicked toward the car, for only a second.</p><p>“It’s alright,” Markus said, then shrugged. “What am I going to do?”</p><p>North stared at him a long time, then gestured. Three blonde girls unfolded from where they hid in the back seat. No—androids. Elijah Kamski’s. They had changed out of their android uniforms and almost looked like a set of human triplets now. The Chloe that gifted Markus with a new eye back in Detroit smiled sadly at him. Then, one at a time, they started to scale the wall.</p><p>“This thing is pretty good at setting androids free.” North tapped the device with the scratched over at her hip, then glanced at the Chloes. “They’re some of the oldest androids in existence. Did you know that? Whenever anyone talks about rescue they never mention them. Someone needs to see the people that no one else sees, you know?”</p><p>Markus felt his thirium pump churn. “I—know you can’t get over that wall without giving me a 76% chance of overpowering you. You threatened a city. You’ve hurt humans and made people fear us.”</p><p>“They’ve always feared us,” North said. “Why do you think they keep us their slaves? Forget the Capitalists and the Communists— the real Cold War is going on under everyone’s noses.”</p><p>Markus wasn’t sure what to say to that.</p><p>North lowered the gun and held out her open hand. “I can still get you out. Away. You can help us win this war.” She looked tense but determined. “What’s a memory scrub? You’d be free.”</p><p>Markus felt the pull so hard in his chest he almost threw up. Perhaps it was some effect of the chain around his neck. Maybe he just realized that what made him free in his mind meant that he never could take her offer.</p><p>He looked down. “I’m afraid of what you’d make me do in the name of freedom.”</p><p>He kept his gaze firmly lowered until there was just one silhouette on the top of the wall. North sat looking down at him. Her long legs looked even longer in her catsuit. She looked like she did a lot of running.</p><p>“Too bad,” she said. “You really would have made a great driver.” She smirked. “I’d have even let you bring your boyfriend.”</p><p>She disappeared over the wall. Regret instantly filled every circuit in his chassis and he scrambled after her—but they were already disappearing toward a small plane across the tarmac, and its engines were already running. He’d never make it. He pulled himself up anyway, and sat there playing with the chain around his neck as he watched the plane take off and disappear into the moonlit sky.</p><p><em>Never again</em>, he told himself. <em>I can’t take another mission like this one. </em>But of course, that wasn’t for him to decide, and probably never would be.</p><p>He was still there when Connor stepped up onto the wall beside him.</p><p>“The compartment in the second car’s engine was empty.” Connor shook his head hard. “I don’t understand! It could be anywhere in the city—or on her yacht...and I suppose she got away--”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Markus said softly. “She got what she came for.”</p><p>Connor glanced in North’s abandoned car and saw the uniforms. “All this, just to free a few androids?”</p><p>Markus didn’t answer. It was too hard to breathe. He made a fist around his dog tags.</p><p>Connor sat down beside him, and they were quiet for a while. Eventually, Markus sank against his shoulder. Connor’s arm came up around him.</p><p>“This never happened,” Markus said. “You’re deleting this memory.”</p><p>“That goes without saying,” Connor said gently. With…something like sympathy. Huh. That was weird.</p><p>“Absolutely hated working with you, Tank.” Markus muttered.</p><p>He thought he felt a smile in Connor’s cheek as the Russian android rested his head on Markus’s. “You’re a terrible spy, Hot rod.”</p><p>Markus managed a smile too.</p><p>They watched the sun rise together.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Today's title from the Beach Boys (had to throw in a title from them at some point!) </p><p>The song on the radio is I Wanna Be Your Dog by the Stooges (1969).</p><p>Comments very much appreciated, they fuel me :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Non Dimenticar: Markus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Markus leaned against a pillar, letting the breeze wash over him while he fiddled with the gold chain around his neck. He was trying to soak the entire state of Hawaii in through his plastic casing. So far, unsuccessful. Damn. He hated finishing missions. Thankfully he had a long plane flight to get used to the idea.</p><p>Someone was walking towards him. He glanced up, and flinched before he could stop himself. He tried to hide it by pretending to pick at something in the corner of his eye.</p><p>“Connor,” he managed, though his voice was tight as a drumhead. “I didn’t know you were flying out on the same day.</p><p>“I am. Ready to ride off into the sunset?”</p><p>That was probably a reference to his outfit, which purposefully paid homage to any given Clint Eastwood character on about Day 6 of an adventure. “Carl told me to wear a tie on airplanes.” He gestured to the wound-up and messily-knotted handkerchief around his throat, which constituted the absolute bare minimum of tie-wearing. But even that and his most disreputable worn-out button-up couldn’t cheer him up. He forced a smile and waited for Connor to go find his gate.</p><p>Connor just dropped a loop of plumeria flowers over his head. “Everyone would expect us to get lei’d before the end of the mission,” he said, donning a garland of his own.</p><p>Markus suffered a catastrophic system failure for a second. He managed to clear the avalanche of errors and resumed holding up the pillar. “Thanks. What flight are you on?” It was the sort of friendly response Connor’s social interaction program would <em>hopefully </em>recognize as an attempt to politely disengage. But he had no interest in chatting with the android that almost got him imprisoned for life. And who he sort of spent the night with, and would spend a lot of nights in sleepless agony over. They hadn’t said goodbye at the hotel. It was fine, it was…over.</p><p>“28,” Connor said. “Same as you.”</p><p>Markus’s eyelashes fluttered. “You’re… going to Detroit?”</p><p>“Yes. To rendezvous with C.Y.B.E.R.L.I.F.E. and debrief with Hank. The attendant was kind enough to give me the seat next to yours. I hope that’s not a problem?”  </p><p>“Uh—no. No, not at all.” Markus stared straight ahead has his jaw worked. “Who else would I want to sit next to for a ten-hour flight…”</p><p>“Exactly!” Connor sidled up next to Markus and nudged his arm, dislodging Markus from his lean. “I’m looking forward to it!”</p><p>“…Fantastic.”</p><p>*</p><p>The line getting on the plane was long and hot, baking on concrete and much too far from the ocean. Markus had more than one sudden impulse to make a break for it.</p><p>And Connor was standing way too close behind him to be comfortable. He was going to give Carl a piece of his mind about this whole stupid mission, when he got home. He just…had to survive the next ten hours.</p><p>“Excuse me,” Connor said, stepping on his heels for the fourth time as they tried to board the plane. Markus chose to ignore it this time rather than saying ‘it’s fine.’ The plane was stifling and Markus almost let out a sigh of relief when he finally got to his row and—</p><p>“Let me get your bag, Markus.”</p><p>“It’s fine, Connor,” Markus said, then promptly wanted to kick himself.</p><p>“It’s no trouble. I prefer the window seat anyway.”</p><p>“It’s really—” Markus said and then Connor was muscling his way past him, practically shoving Markus into one of the rows. “Sorry,” he apologized to the people already seated there, but they frustratingly didn’t seem to mind at all, just smiled at Connor like he was being a perfect gentleman. Connor hefted the bag into the overhead—Markus forced himself not to watch those android muscles shift under his impeccable suit and tie…oh, whoops, too late—and then sat down. Connor took up the entire real estate of the armrest, which was particularly insulting given that he had the extra wall space, but Markus didn’t mention it. He took a book out of his back pocket.</p><p>“The window’s the best seat,” Connor said.</p><p>Markus grunted.</p><p>“I think it’s technically yours, though. That’s what the ticket says. Would you like to switch?”</p><p>Markus bit his tongue, then gave up and said, “It’s fine.”</p><p>“What are you reading?”</p><p>Markus wasn’t reading anything apparently, just staring at a page of words and willing the plane to circulate some air so he’d stop having to smell Connor’s metallic cologne. It was starting to grow on him. “What do you care?”</p><p>“Just a husband trying to show interest.”</p><p>Markus glanced at Connor’s hand on the armrest, and the ring prominently displayed. Markus buried himself in his book. “You know we don’t have to do that anymore. The mission’s over.”</p><p>“My ticket says Dick Reed on it.”</p><p>If this is all just a ploy to plant more bugs on me—”</p><p>“It’s not.”</p><p>Markus waited for further explanation but received none. The pilot asked for everyone to fasten their seatbelts. Connor somehow managed to make two pieces of the seatbelt completely disappear in the seat cushions, and they had to share one between them for takeoff.</p><p>“I’m a little scared of heights,” Connor said.</p><p>“You are not,” Markus said, callously enough that it earned him dirty looks from a couple other passengers. He sighed and held Connor’s hand until the turbulence died down. The ring felt warm against his skin, with Connor’s hand nestled in his.</p><p>He let go as soon as he could, and resumed reading.</p><p>“I need to use the bathroom.”</p><p>Markus stopped reading to glare at his partner. “The bathroom. You.”</p><p>Connor nodded. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You don’t need to use the bathroom.”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“Tank—” Markus warned but they were apparently still playing human on this flight. And he was sick of the looks he was getting from the other passengers, who now thought he was a monster. He climbed to his feet and allowed Connor to pass. When he left Markus checked himself and his suitcase for bugs, but didn’t find any. Connor returned from the bathroom after a reasonable amount of time and resumed his position taking up as much room as possible.</p><p>“What are you reading?”</p><p>“<em>The Spy Who Came in from the Cold</em>,” Markus answered this time.</p><p>“I thought you’d read <em>Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep.</em>”</p><p>“Like Carl would ever let me read that.”</p><p>“The toad is a robot in the end.”</p><p>“…What?...”</p><p>“I need to use the bathroom again.”</p><p>“Connor—I mean, Dick, could you just—”</p><p>But Connor was already practically in his lap, and he had to scramble to get out of the way. Survival was no longer the question. He’d be happy to get off this plane without dismantling his fake husband and shoving him out an emergency exit.</p><p>He got some peace and quiet when Connor returned, at least until the drinks cart came by, and Connor dumped an entire cup of coffee on him.</p><p>“Can’t think of a better way to do me in, huh?” Markus growled, as he waved off the flight attendant and blotted at his soaked shirt.</p><p>“I’m not trying to do you in,” Connor said, “Let me help you get dry.”</p><p>“I think you’ve helped enough.”</p><p>Things were quiet after that. Connor held his hands in his lap and tried to hide the fact that he was reading over Markus’s shoulder. Markus, who read aloud to Carl all the time, didn’t mind that at least. It was…nice actually. He let his mind wander and pretended he was on a train like James Coburn in <em>the Great Escape</em>, one of the few prisoners that did get out alive. It made him feel like he could get off anywhere. He let a smile flicker across his face. Maybe he’d even take Connor with him, annoying as he was.</p><p>Markus wondered what would happen when Carl and Elijah Kamski found out the whole story. Kamski probably wouldn’t like that he let North go, given the loss of three personal androids that went with it. Carl didn’t like it when he so obviously screwed up a mission. And Connor—</p><p>Well, Connor…</p><p>He glanced up as Connor didn’t so much lean over his shoulder as sink against it. He didn’t say anything, just drooped there on Markus’s shoulder. Markus froze, did a quick interface—and found Connor in standby mode. Seriously? The android could have gone into standby leaning against the window. He almost shoved him off.</p><p>Almost.</p><p>Hours passed. Connor sat up after a while and aside from a quick look he acted like nothing had happened. He got up to use the bathroom another couple times. Markus ceased to be bothered by it. If Carl decided he needed a break from spy work, the only android he’d see for a while would be the mailman.</p><p>Hell, after a few months, he might beg just to go outside for groceries.</p><p>The plane started to descend. The fuselage of the plane started closing in around him in a tightening tunnel. It was getting hard to breathe again. It was just the cabin pressure changing, of course.</p><p>Connor’s hand fell overtop his on the armrest. They held hands the whole way down. Markus told himself it was all for Connor’s benefit.</p><p>Markus got his own bag when the plane landed, slipping ahead of Connor and several other people just to get out of the plane a little faster. Cold Detroit air hit him at the top of the gangway, but he didn’t stop until he had his back flat against the brick of the Detroit airport.  He tried a couple of times to reset his synthetic breathing.</p><p>“Markus.”</p><p><em>Markus</em>. Not <em>Gavin</em>. Not <em>Hot rod</em>. He opened his eyes. He and Connor were the only ones outside now, everyone else had gone inside. Markus checked his watch and swept a hand over his head. If he didn’t hurry he’d hear it from Carl, that was for sure. He grabbed his bag to leave but Connor stood in front of the door.</p><p>“Look, there’s no need for goodbyes,” Markus said, more sharply than he meant to. “This was just a job, right?”</p><p>Thankfully, Connor, as usual, didn’t look the least bit affected. “I…tried everything I could find in the movies for airline romances.”</p><p>“…What?”</p><p>“Conversation, excuses to touch, harmless accidents. I was assured by the film industry that these were solid tactics for creating unshakeable bonds between people on a long flight.” Connor beamed for a brief and blinding moment. “I thought we could…”</p><p>They stared at each other for a moment. Connor’s face was all dogged searching hopefulness, bright and fragile as glass. It actually started to snow around them, and there was muffled music coming from inside the terminal. Violins and accordion. This certainly felt like something cooked up by the film industry.</p><p>“Look,” Markus tried to smile back but it guttered under Connor’s gaze. “You belong to Russia. I’m made in America.”</p><p>He tried not to make it sound like star-crossed lovers, or ships that pass in the night, and failed miserably. Connor cocked his head just a little, so perfect for kissing that Markus almost gave it all up right there. Let the humans drag him off kicking and screaming, goodness knows it had happened before…</p><p>With effort, he got a hold of himself, and scrubbed a hand over his head.  “What do you want from me, huh? You’re getting your memory scrubbed, and I’ve got pillows to fluff and...” There was an unhelpful tightness growing in the circuits behind his eyes and in his throat. Probably just the cold. He kicked at the ground with his toe. “And, well, it’s like you said, isn’t it. Can’t stay on a beach making out forever.”</p><p>“…I know.”</p><p>Markus swallowed and nodded. “So. I guess this is it, then.”</p><p>“We might meet again,” Connor insisted. “Someday.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, if it took fifty versions of you for us to meet….” He knew it was cruel to mention, now of all times. At least Markus would get to keep these memories. Though, at the moment. he wasn’t sure if that was better.</p><p>He twisted his shoulders to edge around Connor and head inside.</p><p>Quick as a flash, Connor stepped forward into his arms. Markus went dizzy as the violins swelled—but Connor just reached out and snatched something from his throat. Markus felt a tug and a snap at the nape of his neck, then found himself looking down at the gold chain and dogtags sitting in the palm of Connor’s hand. He felt no compulsion to pick it up and put it back on. Breaking the chain must have short-circuited that part of his program.</p><p>Connor tossed the whole thing into a nearby trashcan anyway, except for the ring Connor gave time.</p><p>“I think I saw a jeweler in this airport,” he said. “You could get at least two hundred dollars for this. There’s flights leaving every hour.”</p><p>Markus stood frozen, like his motor control activator had failed. Cold air swirled in his open mouth and lungs. It took him a few tries to speak.  “I don’t understand.”</p><p>“Well, only one of us <em>has</em> to go back. And… I think I’d like for Hank not to lose another Connor just yet.”</p><p>Connor pressed the ring into Markus’s hand. That touch was the only thing that kept Markus from fainting right there and then. With the chain gone—with some money…</p><p>“You…really do have a heart,” he managed.</p><p>“Well,” Connor gave a lopsided grin. “Not <em>anymore.”</em></p><p>That startled a laugh out of Markus, and Connor beamed like he’d just accomplished ten missions at once. This was all an aberration of his program. Had to be.</p><p>But through the window he could see the list of outbound flights clearly. New York. Los Angeles. Montreal. London. All with flight numbers and times of departure.</p><p>He squeezed his hand around the ring, and felt something crumple. He blinked and looked down. There was a tiny scroll of paper looped around one of the jingling bands. His thirium pump was a roll of thunder through his body as he pressed it open between a couple of fingers. It was a tiny punched card, with just a few lines of information stamped into it. </p><p>Connor ignored this movement entirely. “Don’t worry about me, alright? I’ll tell them everything that went wrong was your fault.” Markus looked up to see him tightening his tie. “But if we ever do meet again. Maybe just…wink as you walk by.”</p><p>“I can’t wink,” Markus said.</p><p>“That’s how I’ll know it’s really you. Obviously. Come on, Markus, it’s like you’re not even a real spy.” He executed a perfect, heart-stopping wink of his own. Markus blushed so hard he had to look away. And, yes, he was a terrible spy because he immediately unrolled the scrap of paper. Was it a secret communication? A code? He had to flatten it out against his leg before he could hold it up to the light to read.</p><p>It was a phone number. Russian country code.</p><p>Connor just used tricks of espionage and subterfuge to slip him his phone number.</p><p>“I thought you hate phones.”  </p><p>He looked up, but Connor had already disappeared, leaving Markus alone with the wide empty tarmac stretching out in front of him.</p><p>Markus laughed, then popped the scrap of paper in his mouth as he headed inside.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Extreme Ways by Moby plays in the distance...</p><p>Don't despair, one more chapter coming! But its the 60s AU, I have to at least pretend things end on a bittersweet note for a little while.</p><p>Today's title from PG Redi/Michele Galdieri/Shelley Dobbins, though I'm thinking of the Jerry Vale version (1963). Making me cry all over the place I tell you what...</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Walk On By: Connor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>-SIX MONTHS LATER-</em>
</p><p>“Why do they keep sending us to the most boring places in this godforsaken country?”</p><p>“I’m not sure, Hank.”</p><p>“I mean,” Hank went on, “We could have a mission in New York! Or San Francisco! They say this country is all ‘purple mountain majesty,’” He added air quotes as he forced the words out in English before switching back to Russian, “instead we get this flat, hot…”</p><p>“Texas,” Connor supplied cheerfully. “The Lone Star state. Major exports include oil.”</p><p>“This is no place for a secret agent,” Hank complained. “We should be somewhere like Rio de Janeiro, or…”</p><p>“Italy?”</p><p>“Oh, <em>Italy</em>….” Hank’s stomach growled. “Speaking of, what’s good to eat around here?”</p><p>Connor consulted his database. “Chili is the official state food. A hearty stew consisting of chili powder, meat, and other ingredients. Also something called a ‘breakfast burrito’. My database doesn’t have any other information on that dish.”</p><p>“Great! I’m getting one. You? You’re <em>not</em> allowed to lick mine.”</p><p>“…Please.”</p><p>Hank grinned and Connor smirked back. They headed across the town square (a <em>plaza, </em>technically) toward a food stand, passing street vendors selling all sorts of goods. Connor paused to eye the ten-gallon hats with a mixture of suspicion and interest. Perhaps he could convince Hank to purchase one for him while they were here. Just in the interest of cultural research.</p><p>“I think you’d look good in that one,” someone said beside him. Connor looked up to see a man with a striking profile examining the hats as well. He tapped the brim of a black hat that Connor had overlooked, showing off the edge of a sleeve tattoo under the cuff of his shirt.</p><p>Connor, an android not often addressed by people on the street, managed, “What makes you think that?”</p><p>“Call it a gut feeling,” the man said. He turned—one eye was seafoam green, the other seaglass blue. “You’ll look just like James Garner in <em>Maverick.</em>”</p><p>He winked at Connor—or, tried to, he was really terrible at it—and walked on, just as Hank returned to Connor’s side.</p><p>“Come on, this place is worse than a spaghetti Western,” Hank chided, “If I don’t keep my eye on you, you’ll wind up shanghaied or hog-tied or who knows what…”</p><p>Connor continued to watch the man that almost winked at him. He had jogged across the plaza and joined up with an old man in a wheelchair, where he perched on a nearby fence. The two talked and laughed like old friends.</p><p>Connor’s memory database, and his thirium pump, went <em>clunk. </em></p><p>“So,” Hank said, already unwrapping his burrito, “I guess we’re just waiting around here for our contact, huh? Why we can’t just get a normal briefing for your next assignment like MI-6, I’ll never know…”</p><p>Connor wasn’t listening. “Would you excuse me a moment, Hank? I promise I won’t get shanghaied.”</p><p>Hank rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I saw you eyeing those souvenirs. Go on, have fun.”</p><p>Connor grinned, and then headed across the plaza. As he approached, the man was already saying goodbye to his older companion and walking off, toward a side street. As he reached the corner he looked back, right at Connor, something unreadable in his blue-green eyes.</p><p>Well, not that unreadable. His expression clearly said, ‘catch me if you can.’ It activated every hunter program Connor had in his system.</p><p>Of course he gave chase.</p><p>The streets around the plaza were twisty, unpredictable things. If Connor thought he and Hank would be spending any time here he would have downloaded a map. He marshaled every program he possessed to close the distance between them but the man’s heels kept disappearing down the alleyways just ahead of him, just out of reach, and then they disappeared altogether and—</p><p>A hand reached out of the alleyway next to him and yanked him inside. Connor started to protest before his assailant dragged him into a long kiss. It hit him like an avalanche. Or maybe that was the sudden rush of information into his program as the man grabbed his arm and interfaced.</p><p>A whole mission played on fast-forward in his mind: plumerias, sea salt on skin, turtlenecks, a motorcycle—yes, even the rice in the bathtub….</p><p>It was all familiar, right down to the crush of lips against his.</p><p>Connor broke the kiss. “We don’t need to over that part.” He grinned slowly. “Markus.”</p><p>Markus’s pretty eyes searched Connor’s face, a warm bronze hand stroking his cheek. “You’re 52, right? Please say I didn’t just make out with a random—” He frowned. “Wait—you remembered me?”</p><p>“Hank and I used the software editor.” Memories spread over him along with that hand, like the tide sweeping back over a beach. “We encrypted as many of the memories as we could. Just needed the right code to unlock.” Connor reached up and traced his fingertip down the center of Markus’s face. “Apparently you can store a lot of information in a wink if it’s <em>really</em> terrible—”</p><p>Markus laughed, and Connor’s programming went wonderfully blank. Markus used the moment of inoperability to grab Connor under the arm and pin him to the wall for another kiss. Connor curled his toes in his shoes and let him. Markus touched him like he wanted to interface with every inch of Connor’s skin. Connor just fisted his hands in Markus’s shirt and refused to let go.</p><p>“I can’t believe it,” Markus breathed, between kisses, “How on Earth did I find you here?”</p><p>“Must be fate,” Connor whispered, “Unless….” He kissed Markus’s jawline in the shadow of the alleyway, computing. “…unless you’re…” <em>Uh oh.</em></p><p>Markus purred, leaning in for more. “Don’t worry, I only visit Carl these days. I don’t work for the CIA anymore.”</p><p>“Oh, good,” a voice said, “That means your schedule is empty!”</p><p>They both looked up to see Elijah Kamski step into the alley. He was flanked by two thugs in black suits, both armed. A black car with tinted windows slid to a stop at the alley entrance at the opposite end. Connor watched in real time as the flush in Markus’s cheeks drained away.</p><p>“Thank you so much for finding your contact,” Kamski told Connor brightly. "Markus is a difficult android to track down."</p><p>“Connor…” Markus’s voice was a warning.</p><p>Connor gulped. “…In my defense, I didn’t actually know you were my contact.”</p><p>Markus gave him a glare like he didn’t believe a word of it, which…fair. Connor still pouted.</p><p>“Contact for what?” Markus demanded.</p><p>“For another mission,” Kamski said. “For C.Y.B.E.R.L.I.F.E.!”</p><p>Both androids blinked at him blankly.</p><p>“There’s a matter of international security. Bad guys to be caught, lives to be saved—the whole nine yards.” Kamski spread his hands. “And—<em>well</em>, it worked so well last time, you two made such an <em>excellent</em> team, so we thought we’d recruit you again for this job.”</p><p>Markus’s jaw dropped in the same moment as Connor’s.</p><p>“A <em>job?</em>” Markus managed.</p><p>Connor stammered, “With <em>him?</em>”</p><p>“I don’t work for anyone anymore,” Markus added, then turned to Connor. “What do you mean, ‘with <em>me</em>?’”</p><p>Connor tightened his tie. “You may be a good kisser, but you’re terrible in field situations.”</p><p>“Screw you, I carried the Hawaii mission!—"</p><p>Kamski waved a hand. “Shall we continue this heartwarming renunion in the car?” He spun and headed down the alleyway. “I have punched cards for you in a locker at the airport—they will explain everything. Connor, I trust you’ll inform your handler of the specifics later? We’ll need to hurry if you’re going to catch your flight.”</p><p>Markus let out a sharp laugh. “Where is it we’re supposed to be going?”</p><p>“Las Vegas,” Kamski replied. “Nevada, not New Mexico. Don’t worry, I already packed a couple of tuxedos.”</p><p>Connor stepped forward. “But I work for Hank and the KGB, not you.”</p><p>“Yeah, and I don’t work for anyone,” Markus growled. “This is—”</p><p>The thugs raised their guns. Even two androids with state-of-the-art combat cards couldn’t outrun bullets. Soon they were in the back of the car, the thugs ready to shoot if they made a break for it. Connor looked over to see Markus giving the headrest of the driver’s seat a thousand-yard stare.</p><p>“…You know,” Connor said, after a moment of silence. “This is probably a wonderful opportunity. We both appreciate the importance of saving the world. And it does give us a chance to catch up.” He gave Markus’s elbow a little nudge with his own. “Just like old times, you know?”</p><p>Markus put up a hand. “Don’t talk to me.”</p><p>“I’m just saying, it’ll be good to work together again.”</p><p>“I’m going to disassemble you.”</p><p>“Really, we should be taking this as a compliment that we’re being sought out to champion peace and order in the world once again. We might as well make the most of it. Anyway, I’m sure this mission will be over before you know it.”</p><p>“It won’t be,” one of the thugs said.</p><p>“Another exciting adventure,” Connor said with a grin, “just waiting to unfold!”</p><p>Markus pinched the bridge of his nose. “<em>Son of a bitch</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>-THE END-</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Today's title from Leroy Van Dyke (1961).  This one in particular makes me smile thinking of it as an RK1K song, go check it out! I had plans to make a playlist of all the songs, maybe I still will someday... Also, breakfast burritos were not technically called that until the 1970s apparently but whatever, I like breakfast burritos and I think Hank and Connor would too :) </p><p>Anyway, that's that, folks! It was real tough posting this last one, I didn't want to let this story go. Maybe a sequel someday! I've got other RK1K ideas in the works so stay tuned!</p><p>Thank you to all the people that commented along the way, you're the ones that make fanfic worthwhile in my opinion, and I appreciate you all!</p>
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